Darkness and Light
by cyropi
Summary: Love lasts forever – or so they thought. Months have passed, months in which Draco and Hermione’s relationship has deepened. But Lucius has been planning… and he could destroy their love forever. The sequel to Fire and Ice. (Complete)
1. Rolling the Dice

Rolling the Dice 

**Disclaimer: **Don't own it. J.K. Rowling owns it. I own the plot.

**A/N:** Thank you for the 34 reviews/death threats! KAOS, aliveforever83, Ms.Lynn, Krista, Rebecca, StarJade, Susan, C, DessieDevin, dracoNmione, ce, Snow-Queen, hyper-shark, KirbyKirst, Purple People Eater, MysticalStormz, Katrina, CrimsonFirebolt, Akira Gown, JAMTillDawn, Siobhan (Madiszon), mutsumi, dragon eyes, starlight, saj aneri, superdork, Katrina, Amo il ragazzo, angkat14, hb heavengurl899, Green Tea, Draco Lover!

To answer questions: I have seen the new film! It was really good, and I agree Lucius was great, except I somehow can't picture him with long hair… I'm in England, the land of freezing winters…I actually have to take breaks from writing to thaw my fingers out! I tried to have Draco change slowly – was that not slow enough? Most people complained that I was taking forever… Remember that in this one he's had months, in which he has changed, so don't tell me he's totally out of character just yet…

You know I said there would be flashbacks? There's one here. You should be able to tell when it starts, but just in case I put ~*~*~*~ to mark the divide. Fluffier flashbacks will occur later – this one's trying to instil some plot as well. Enjoy!

~*~

Half an hour later, Draco lay on a rock-hard bed in the tiny dungeon. There were two beds in the one cell now – obviously Lucius thought it would be more 'fun' to put them in a cell together.

He chanced a glance over to Hermione's bed, pushed against the opposite wall. She still hadn't woken up, which was a mixed blessing. Obviously he wanted to see if she was alright, but… how much had she forgotten? Did she remember some things? Translating the Laekalia? Talking to him? Maybe she'd forgotten him completely. Memory Charms were a tricky art, especially when making someone forget such a large thing. Trying to guess exactly what she had forgotten was impossible.

Just a day before, it had seemed like everything was perfect. They had loved each other, talked and joked and had no greater worry than the length of their Potions essay. Lucius had been forgotten, ignored, a distant memory from months ago. That had been yesterday…

            ~*~*~*~

Draco sat at what had become his customary table in the library. One of the main problems he and Hermione had found had been the simple mater of where to meet. Obviously, they couldn't continually visit each other's common rooms, as they had done the night of what was now referred to as the 'Attack'. A few after-dark visits had taken place, however, with the help of Harry's Invisibility Cloak. 

The most obvious place to meet was the secluded table, tucked away in a corner of the library, where Hermione and Draco had worked on their translation. Over time, Harry and Ron – Hermione had insisted that they all call each other by first names – had come to think of it as their table also. Draco still didn't get on well with Harry and Ron, but they suffered each other for Hermione's sake. 

Draco ran a hand through his hair irritably, and flipped to the index of one of the myriad Potions books scattered around the table. He had an important essay to finish on Muggle plants and their uses in potions, a subject which seemed to have been overlooked by the authors of all the books he could find.

A few unsuccessful minutes later, he was startled out of his mind-numbing search by the thud of a book on the table next to him. He glanced up to see Hermione surveying the table in front of him. She frowned.

'That essay's supposed to be in this afternoon!'

Draco gave a passing imitation of an overdramatic groan, and held a hand to his eyes in mock despair. 

Hermione took a seat. 'Don't be silly. You've you at least another seven inches to write, if not more.'

'I can't find any mention of Muggle plants.' he admitted almost grudgingly. 'I've looked and looked, but… nothing.'

Hermione picked up one of the books on the desk. 'You haven't any decent books here whatsoever.' she remarked.

'Of course I do.' Draco said indignantly. 'Humphrey's _A Study Of Botany_ is widely regarded as having the most detailed descriptions of Woeful Weeds in the country. And Wilson's _Plants of Great Britain_ is…'

'Yes, but they're all written by traditionalist old wizards who think that if a plant doesn't try to bite you it's useless.' She broke in, a subtle smile on her lips. Draco frowned grumpily. 'I'll find you some better books.' she added, and practically skipped towards the potions section.

Draco shook his head, glancing down at his parchment to hide an amused smile. Hermione loved to help, especially where knowledge was concerned. Sometimes he thought she would fight Voldemort with a rubber chicken if she thought it would help him learn something. 

She returned within a minute, arms laden with about six books. 'Here.' she said, dumping the load on the table. 'Try these, they're more modern.'

He thanked her with a nod, and flicked to the index of the topmost book. Sure enough, the section on 'Muggle Plants' covered pages 31 to 35, 67, 69 and 128.

'What would I do without you?' he asked jokingly.

'Fail Potions, obviously.' Hermione leant down to look directly at him. 'I'm going outside to watch Harry and Ron play Quidditch. I would have invited you to play, but obviously…' She waved a hand at the Potions essay.

'Have fun freezing in the stadium then.' he replied. She shook her head in amusement, and planted a small kiss on one cheek before grabbing her bag and running out.

Draco watched her leave, a lingering smile on his face, before continuing his essay. Ten minutes and four inches later, his homework was interrupted again, but this time by a far more ominous occurrence.

It was a calm, persistent tap on the nearest window that caught his attention. He glanced up to see an intelligent-looking owl sitting on the window ledge, a letter tied to its leg. It was something in the owl's manner that first made him uneasy – a kind of superior air in the way it held itself.

The windows were divided into two parts – one large upper window which stayed firmly in place, and a smaller one at the bottom, which was designed to slide upwards. Draco opened the lower window, and the owl hopped elegantly in, holding out one leg at a perfect right angle for him to take the letter. It did not seem to behave quite naturally – it had been moulded to fit a preconceived ideal.

With a feeling of foreboding, Draco took the letter and rolled it open. He didn't need to see the signature at the bottom to know who had written it. He could recognise his father's handwriting. It was written in his father's usual style, formal and semi cryptic, full of hints and meanings.

_Draco,_

_I grow tired of your whimsical infatuation with your Mudblood friend. I wonder continually what could make you refuse the power that would have been yours? I need not repeat the plans and glorious achievements of the Dark Lord, although a review of the punishments and tortures may be appropriate. The Dark Lord has no mercy: he will not hesitate to take any course of action if he sees fit._

_The simplest plans are the best, and he has decided to murder the Mudblood and thus remove the problem if you do not turn back and rejoin our noble cause. The Dark Lord has followers everywhere, even inside Hogwarts – murdering one girl would be no difficulty. Do you wish her to die, Draco?_

The Dark Lord will be forgiving to the son of his most favoured supporter – many men have been swayed by a pretty face, but have returned and claimed their share of glory, power and wealth. I have charmed this letter to act as a Portkey, which will be activated the moment you step outside the new wards. I request your presence by no later than eleven tonight – if you do not come, I shall assume you have chosen foolishly, and proceed with the murder as soon as possible.

_Lucius_

Draco's fears increased sickeningly as he read the letter. He didn't doubt his father's word for an instant – he knew that their murder plan was very probable, and Voldemort certainly had enough followers among the Slytherins alone who would jump at the chance to gain their Lord's favour.

The question was not the truth of the letter, but how he should act upon it. Turning back to Voldemort's side was out of the question. How could he go back to mindless killing of Muggle-borns and Muggles? Hermione was Muggle-born. Muggles may not have magical powers, but Draco at least had to admit they were human, not some dumb animal to be slaughtered. 

But he couldn't put Hermione in danger. No, he must protect her at all costs. Could he guard against the attacker from inside the school? But how, when he didn't know where or how the unknown attacker would strike?

He would have to go and meet his father. A few lies? Maybe pretend to be undecided, unsure whether to turn back to Voldemort or stay with his love. They wouldn't kill her then, for fear he would turn against them completely when they had had him so nearly there.

Yes. He wouldn't tell anyone about the letter yet – Hermione would without a doubt try to follow him, and that could prove dangerous for them both.

The bell rang, and Draco cursed. His Potions essay was still three inches too short. Snape still favoured him – maybe he'd overlook it? He hastily folded the letter and the homework together, threw his things into his bag, and made for Potions.

~*~*~*~

But that had been yesterday. Here and now, in the cold stone dungeon, Draco could do nothing more than wait helplessly. How much did Hermione remember? A phrase of some Muggle song Hermione had listened to floated through his mind. '_The gods may throw a dice, their minds as cold as ice…_' 

He had never believed in a god. Now he almost wished he did, just so he could believe somehow things would turn out alright. But no one was watching over him. No, just fickle Fate and cruel chance, rolling their dice to determine what Hermione forgot. Six and she loves you, one and she hates you. Two she's forgotten you completely, five she's just lost a few patches. Three and four? Who knows? 

It was strange, he thought, that all he could do now was wait. He was used to planning. The complexities of probable outcomes would arrange themselves neatly in his mind with a minimum of effort. But how could he tell how the dice would roll? How could he tell what Hermione remembered? He could only wait and hope.

He did not have to wait long. After a few minutes, his attention was drawn by a low murmur from Hermione's bed. He watched as she turned over, awaking fully to find the welcoming haven of Hogwarts gone, replaced with a hard bed in a freezing dungeon. Draco felt a surge of fearful anticipation

'What?' Hermione asked, sitting up in the bed and putting a hand to her forehead. Honouring the ancient cliché, she added 'Where am I?'

She looked around, and immediately saw Draco, sitting in his bed and watching her with a guarded yet nervous expression.

Draco saw her frown, recognising him, and then her frown turned angrier and his hopes sank. 'What have you done, Malfoy? Where have you taken me?' She was trying to hide what she felt; she had forced her voice to remain steady and unshaking, but it betrayed an undercurrent of fear and terror. And somewhere deep down – hate. 

He closed his pale eyes in an attempt to hide his own feelings, which whirled sickeningly. Screaming at the front of his mind was the terrible, hopeless knowledge that she had forgotten. Forgotten everything that mattered. She didn't love him.

When he opened his eyes, it was to see Hermione still watching him warily. There was a bruise on her forehead where she'd fallen, and adept at reading her expressions, he knew she was terrified. Some un-Malfoy itch wanted to comfort her. But he couldn't, of course. Would he ever be able to again?

He closed his eyes again. Looking at her was too painful. 'I haven't done anything.' he said, and it was a tribute to his control over himself that his voice came out smooth and level.

Hermione's back was pressed against the wall, like a hunted animal. Draco realised she was afraid of him. Had she feared him in those years before he knew her? He couldn't imagine why. She and Harry and Ron had always seemed so confident, almost to the point of arrogance. They had always come off best. 

She stared at him, a single ray of dim light catching her eye and making it glisten. The undercurrent of hate he had seen before now came to the forefront. 

'I know you've done something.' she said, her words spat out with utter distaste, the terror of the moment spurring her to attack him in the worst way possible  -with words. 'I'm not stupid. You're the most heartless, uncaring, prejudiced Slytherin to come to Hogwarts since Tom Riddle himself. You're always planning something horrible.' Her eyes flashed. 'I hate you. I've hated you from the first moment I saw you, I have always hated you and I will always hate you.'

Draco could not have been more pained if Hermione had stabbed a knife in his heart. It felt like his world had fallen to pieces and lay as dust at his feet. His head was bent, his eyes shut. 

He didn't reply, only whispered so silently the words didn't reach his own ears. 'You're wrong. You didn't always hate me.'

There was a grey silence, into which Hermione spoke. Her voice had calmed now, and while still afraid, she refused to panic or be upset. Gryffindor bravery. It was something that had been ever-present in Hermione. It would have brought a smile to his face, in happier circumstances. But now, it served only as a reminder of everything he had lost.

'Why am I here? What are you going to do with me?'

Draco wanted to reassure her, although he knew she wouldn't believe anything he said. But he couldn't talk to her, not now.

'I… just… just leave me alone, Hermione.' His words were barely audible, underscored with misery. He lay down in the bed, and turned his face to the wall. His elegance was gone, replaced with the stiff and graceless movements of those too saddened to care.

It was no difficulty for him to sleep. Sadness made him world-weary, and his sleep was light and dreamless.

~*~

**A/N:** Poor Draco! Don't worry – happier things will happen. Eventually. 

I have angered the gods of fanfiction by quoting ABBA in this chapter… it was one of those things that happened while you were writing. The lyric used belongs to them. Anyway, I must conduct a human sacrifice to appease them… who to sacrifice… *crazed grin*

Review and I won't sacrifice you!


	2. Paradise Lost

Prologue – Paradise Lost 

**Disclaimer:** The characters in this story do not belong to me: they are the property of JK Rowling. I own the plot.

**A/N: **Yes – the long-awaited sequel to Fire and Ice is here! Actually, It's only been a few weeks, so it's really the short-awaited sequel… if that makes sense!  Thank you to all the reviewers of the last chapter! 

If anyone hasn't read Fire and Ice, click on my username and go read it now. Quicker than that! We're waiting for you here…. Done? Good.

If the prologue leaves you with a few questions, don't worry – later chapters will have the answers! When I got the idea, this part demanded to be written first, so sorry if it gets confusing! There will be a bit of jumping in time, but it shouldn't be too hard to figure it out. Go forth, read… and enjoy, hopefully.

            ~*~

The room was huge, impressive but empty. Patterned walls stretched imposingly from the lush carpet to the stark white ceiling. A fire in one corner burnt in a subdued manner, doing little to warm the vast expanse of nothingness. There was a sofa against one wall that had never been sat on, a desk in a corner that was covered with paper. Dark mahogany bookshelves towered overhead, and a grim grandfather clock ticked life away with meticulous accuracy.

            The surroundings were strange ones for the dramatic scene taking place in the centre of the room. Lucius paced the floor aristocratically, a thoughtful eyebrow raised. A glass in his hand was filled with red wine. Draco and Hermione stood close together near the window, still dripping with rainwater. Hermione looked out of place in the grand surroundings, but Draco could wear any environment like a cloak.

            'You still defy me, son?' asked Lucius, taking an elegant sip of the crimson wine. Draco watched his father warily with a false expression of unconcern. Hermione, standing slightly behind him, gulped nervously and reached surreptitiously for a comforting hand. Draco took her hand and held it reassuringly.

            'I am no longer your son.' He said in reply. Behind him, he could hear Hermione's breathing, quick and short with fear. Why had she come? He should have done this alone, where he had nothing to lose but himself. But she had to follow him…

            Lucius frowned. 'I told you so many times, Draco, but you did not listen. Caring makes you weak. Love makes you weak.' He raised his wand, and watched Draco step sideways to conceal Hermione. 'So concerned with protecting your Mudblood lover. If you had not been turned away from our cause, you could have had anything you desired. You could have followed the Dark Lord, gained power and respect.'

            'I could have been evil.'

            Lucius smiled sardonically. 'Evil? Evil does not exist outside of fairytales. There is no good and evil. There are those who fear, and those who cause others to fear. Those who live quiet little lives and never achieve anything, and those with ambition. And what greater ambition than to be among the ranks of the Death Eaters?'

            Draco waited, tensed and ready for whatever his father would throw at them. Hermione shivered, whether from cold, fear or revulsion Draco never knew. Lucius drew Hermione's wand out from a pocket and examined it.

            'Would it not be easier if you had never loved each other?' he mused. 'But of course, changing the past is very difficult. Who knows where we would end up?'

            Was this his plan? To change time so they were never friends, never fell in love? It was something he could do – a few minutes work with a time turner, a few strings pulled… Yet Lucius enjoyed making people suffer. His plan would be more painful than that.

            Draco cursed himself. Why had he decided to come? The letter his father had sent had threatened to hurt Hermione if he failed to meet him. He softly tightened his grasp on her hand. Lucius wouldn't hurt Hermione. He wouldn't let his father hurt her.

            'But of course, I could change things now.' Lucius said, raising his wand with glittering eyes. 'For where does the past exist but in the memory? Obliviate!'

            The curse flew straight to Hermione, where she staggered as though hit forcibly, and sank to the floor unconscious. Fear gripped Draco. Memory Charms rarely caused unconsciousness, but it was an occasional side effect… when the memory erased was very large.

            'What did you make her forget?' he asked with a hint of fear in his voice.

            'I believe you have already guessed the answer to that.'

            'Loving me.' Draco stated, knowing that it was true. 'You made her forget that I loved her, and that she loved me.'

            ~*~

            A/N: Yes, I know you hate me for doing that. Yes, I know you're going to hunt me down and arrest me for crimes against romance. Yes, I know you would like nothing better than to lock me in a cell until I've got them back together, and then murder me using a very sharp pencil, a piglet, and Lucius' retinue of Dark Spells.

            There will be fluff in later chapters – memories of the intervening times, and of course they'll get back together. There'll also be an interesting background romance. I'm going to update weekly.

            Review and tell me how mad you are with me!


	3. Unpleasant Revelation

Unpleasant Revelation

**Disclaimer:** No, I don't own them.

**A/N: **80 reviews! Thanks go to: The Elfin Child, KAOS, Sanaria, Dragonsbane, JAMTillDawn, Katrina, heavengurl889, Amo il ragazzo, Queen Li (x2), Rebecca, Akira Gown, hyper_shark, Draco Lover, angkat14, Green Tea, C, Fairie Dust, starlight, Purple People Eater, danapotter (x2), Crazed, Blizzard, M-chan, mutsumi, Erica Evans, aliveforever83, The Dragon Guardian Of The Sea, somebody, Bobbi, JoeBob1379 (x2), gee, Aniron, MoonDancerCat (x2), dracoNmione, Dragonsbane, Ce, Riar Aille, anon, Xtreme Nusiance (x2), Wind Elf, and Vanillastar!

C – I'm sorry I didn't reply to you the first time you asked, I was in a rush to get the chapter out. I actually don't read that much fanfiction any more (No time!) so I'm afraid I don't know the one you meant… I tried looking it up when you mentioned it, but couldn't find it. Would you give me the author's name? I would never knowingly plagiarise someone else's work. When you create something you put a bit of yourself into it, and taking that idea is like taking a part of someone else – it's immoral.

Thanks to everyone else for their encouragement (and anger!)

~*~

Hermione's sleep was not so easy. Hours later, she lay awake, staring at the dawn's light as it traced patterns on the ceiling and wondering at how quickly fear could turn to boredom.

There was nothing to do in the dungeon. She had lain awake for an age, not remotely tired, thinking. After formulating a dozen escape plans, each more hopeless than the last, she turned her thoughts to other things.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Malfoy shift uncomfortably. There was something to wonder about. Why was he locked in his own dungeon? Why was he acting so strangely? He hadn't called her names or been rude to her, and – now she thought about it – he had called her Hermione. The more she thought about it, she more she felt there was no answer. It was perplexing.

She glanced towards the tiny, high-up hole with bars on that served as a window. Harry and Ron had saved her last time this happened. She shuddered involuntarily at the memory of the risk they had taken – coming alone to Malfoy Manor, flying her out unconscious on a broomstick… Harry had dropped her, she had been told. Who had caught her? She frowned – she ought to remember. Then again, she hadn't been in the most coherent state the next morning, exhausted as she was from Death Eater torture. It must have been Ron, she decided. She could remember the boys telling her what had happened, but some parts were mysteriously blurs.

Hermione didn't want them to rescue her. It was too dangerous, if they were caught. Lucius Malfoy had tortured… someone… in mid flight. What if something like that happened again?

And yet she did want them to come. She wanted to be safe, wanted to be away from here, wanted to be back at Hogwarts and studying hard. It worried her – was she selfish, to want her friends to rescue her even though they would be in mortal danger? No, it was a natural thing to want to be safe. And she wouldn't want them to come. 

If Harry and Ron found out, they would certainly try to rescue her. And they would find out where she was, sooner or later – they'd come on just a suspicion! It made her determined to get out before her friends could put their lives at risk. She wouldn't let them be hurt on her account.

Resolved to do something, Hermione sank into a determined doze. She wasn't given more than half an hour of sleep before a high-pitched voice disturbed her.

'Poor Master Draco,' the voice was saying. There was a clink, and a sigh. 'Ditty knows that Master Lucius is…' here the voice paused, drawing breath,  'a nasty nasty man! Ditty is sorry for you, but she doesn't say, because you think house elves is inferior, and you wouldn't like for Ditty to feel sorry.' The voice paused, and Hermione in her sleepy state was vaguely irritated at the break in chatter. The voice had a nice sound, high but almost tuneful, and she liked hearing it.

'And now, Ditty feels even more sorry.' There was a further sigh, and a faint sniff. Fully awoken, Hermione opened bleary eyes to see a house elf, facing away from her, towards Malfoy. Her head was bent a little, and she seemed to genuinely mean what she had said – she _did_ feel sorry.

Curiosity overtook Hermione, and she sat up in bed. 'Erm… excuse me…' she began. The elf whirled around. The first thing Hermione noticed about her face was her two blue eyes, wide with fright. 

'You is awake!' she squeaked. 'Ditty is very sorry, she is not knowing you is awake…'

'It's alright.' Hermione reassured her. 'I only just woke up anyway.'

Ditty bent down to the floor, where two bowls of a watery-looking soup sat. 'Ditty has food for Miss Hermione and Master Draco.' She picked up one of the plates, and offered it to her hopefully.

'Thank you.' Hermione said, taking the bowl. Ditty blinked a few times, wide-eyed, and smiled with a small sniff.

'Are you alright?' asked Hermione concernedly, which only caused the little elf to sniff more. 'Yes, Miss Hermione. It is just… Ditty is not used to people being polite.' She paused, dabbing her nose with one corner of the sheet she wore, before continuing. 'Ditty's family are very mean, Miss Hermione. 

Hermione sipped her soup cautiously. It tasted, surprisingly, very good. Lucius obviously didn't intervene much in the prison menu. 'Are you the Malfoy's new house elf?' she asked curiously. 'How did you come to work for them?'

Ditty's bat-like ears drooped, and she gave a small choking sob.

'Don't tell me if you don't want to.' Hermione said quickly.

'No, Ditty…' She paused, wiping her eyes hard with her sheet, before continuing in a choked voice. 'Ditty's mistress was a very good witch, she was friends with Dumbledore.' Her voice sounded semi-reverent as she spoke of Dumbledore. 'But Master Lucius killed Ditty's mistress… Master Lucius made Ditty come and work for him.' Her ears drooped further, and she gave an almighty sniff.

'Oh you poor thing…' said Hermione, digging in a pocket for a handkerchief. Was there no end to Lucius' evil? 'Here.' she said, handing her a reasonably clean square of fabric.

The elf smiled gratefully. 'Thank you, Miss Hermione.' She blew her nose on it hard. 'Ditty hates Master Lucius, he is a very very bad dark wizard… and very mean to Master Draco. The things Ditty has seen and heard! Miss Hermione would not believe Ditty, Miss Hermione would think Ditty was lying and make her slam her fingers in the door hinge…'

'I wouldn't!' Hermione jumped in, sounding both indignant and trying to be reassuring. Ditty sniffed again. 

Hermione watched her sorrowfully. Poor thing… locked up with the Malfoys. It was bad enough being kidnapped for a few days. Being their slave for your whole life… it must be terrible. She was brave to even speak out at all about them… but…   

'How can you say bad things about the Malfoys?' Hermione asked in puzzlement. 'All the other elves I met kept hitting themselves if they said anything bad about their masters…'

Ditty beamed suddenly. 'Ah… but Ditty has been practicing.' she proclaimed proudly. 'Every night Ditty says ten horrible things about Master Lucius. It was hard – Ditty had bruises for weeks at first. But now I can say anything I want.' She grinned even wider. 'Ditty can say that… Master Lucius is a horrible, cruel idiot with dust for brains and the charisma of a toad.'

Hermione laughed. 'You have been practicing. You're almost as good as…' She stopped suddenly, frowning. Now where had that name come from?

'As who?' asked Ditty inquisitively

'No one…'

'Was Miss about to say… Draco Malfoy?' ventured Ditty.

'How did you know?' asked Hermione in surprise. Even she couldn't tell why his name had suddenly jumped into her head as an example… true, he insulted her frequently, but not particularly humorously. More like spitefully.

Ditty sniffed sadly again. Hermione reflected that she didn't seem to stay in the same mood for more than half a minute. 'Ditty is very sad…' she began. 'Ditty always was sorry for Master Draco because Master Lucius is so horrible to him. She was very happy when she found out that…'

Ditty stopped suddenly. 'That what?' prompted Hermione. But the elf shook her head. She looked over to where Malfoy slept on the rough bed.

'Ditty will not say.' she muttered quietly. 'It is Master Draco's business. He will tell you when he wants to.' She gave another sniff, and wiped her nose on Hermione's handkerchief.

'I thought you could say anything you wanted about the Malfoys?'

'Ditty can.' She nodded, her eyes wide and shining. The vivid blue tone seemed the only bright or colourful thing in the whole cell. 'But Ditty doesn't want to say.'

There was a momentary silence, broken by a squeal. 'Ditty must be in the kitchen! Tea will burn, and Ditty will get such a punishment!' She seemed genuinely frightened, and Hermione tried to calm her.

'Go quickly, you can still stop it burning…'

The elf ran towards the door, pausing after she shut the barred door on them. 'Ditty will come back later, miss, with dinner. Will miss talk to her again?'

'Of course.' Hermione smiled as the little elf ran off. The poor elf! Locked into slavery… When she escaped, she would have to try and free her. Maybe it would be foolish, but she had to try. She was a sweet elf, she didn't deserve to be slave to the Malfoys… no one did.

Her mind, however, kept being drawn back to the question: What was it Ditty hadn't wanted to tell her? Why did she feel so sorry for Malfoy? Why had his name sprung to mind?

Malfoy was a mystery – unanswerable. Yet she had the feeling that the answer was as plain and obvious as the simplest Arithmancy problem… if only she could remember!

She fell back into her doze still trying to puzzle out what was so strange, and when she woke again the sunlight that poured reluctantly into the cell was the rich yellow of late afternoon. She blinked, bringing the sunshine into focus and watching it play gently on the ceiling.

A movement caught her eye, and she glanced towards Malfoy. He was sitting upright in bed, his knees bent to his chest in a manner that somehow made him look young, small and vulnerable, although Hermione knew he could never be so. One arm was wrapped around his knee, while the other held the soup bowl. He took an uncaring sip from time to time, seeming not to taste the food or care that it was cold. He stared broodingly at nothing in particular.

Hermione stares fixedly at the ceiling, trying to ignore him. It was bad enough she had to suffer his presence – she wasn't going to speak to him as well.

But he was hard to ignore. He didn't do anything distracting, make any noise or attempt to talk to her, but he has a mysterious quality that attracted her attention like a moth to the proverbial candle flame. Hermione adored solving puzzles. Researching to find the answers to obscure questions, calculations in Arithmancy, dissecting Voldemort's plans to try and protect Harry from painful and bloody death… she was happiest when her mind was untangling the knots on a problem. 

Malfoy struck her as a huge problem. What was going on? Why was he acting so strangely? It didn't make sense. There was no logical explanation.

Her mind seemed to continuously know what he was doing, listening and watching intently from the corner of her eye. She tried to stop paying attention, but her subconscious tracked him constantly. If she went on much longer it would drive her mad.

            She tried to choose between madness and asking Malfoy what was going on. Neither were particularly attractive choices… but if it could help her solve the problem, she would try anything.

            'What's going on?' she asked abruptly. She startled herself with her snappish voice – she hadn't expected to sound so exasperated.

            Malfoy didn't look surprised – maybe he'd known she was awake? He turned to look at her. His face was emotionless but not blank – there was something indefinable there.

'What do you mean?' he replied in a disturbingly quiet voice. The malice was gone – Hermione was not sure whether to treat it with suspicion or not.

'You're acting strangely, and don't deny it, because a three year old could tell. Why?'

'Why do you want to know?' He countered.

Hermione sighed. 'Because I can't let a problem go once I've started, and I really can't think of any logical reason why you're acting this way.'

She wasn't sure, but he might have given a half-smile. 'Imagine what would happen if we had to work together on a school project.'

'We'd kill each other.' Hermione stated simply.

'Well we didn't. We got on quite well, after a few initial… disagreements.'

Hermione stared at him in confusion. He leant against the wall, staring at the ceiling, and his face was deadly serious.

'What on earth are you talking about?'

He glanced at her briefly – his eyes full of conflict – before wearily closing his eyes. He looked defeated.

'You don't remember this, and I don't know why I'm telling you.' he began. His face was unnaturally pale, almost glowing in the darkness. 'You won't believe me.' he said with perfect conviction, a statement of fact rather than a pessimistic view. 'We were paired for a project in Ancient Runes, months ago. We had to spend ages together translating a book. I suppose… you made me change my mind about a few things, and we… we fell in love.

~*~

And anyone who's expecting Hermione to suddenly remember and throw her arms around him had better think again – that's far too easy! They will get back together, but it won't be that simple…

Yes, Draco is a little OOC, but all will be explained in later chapters.

Review, or be turned into one of the Malfoy's house elves…


	4. Disbelief

Disbelief

**Disclaimer:** Don't own them. J.K.Rowling does. Lucky her.

**A/N:** Thanks for 129 reviews goes to: Queen Li, dracoNmione, KAOS, aliveforever83, Wind Elf, Jen Drake, f0xyness39, Dragonsbane, Corundum Advance, Akira Gown, Arial, The Dragon Guardian Of The Sea, Amo il ragazzo, meggiebaby81, AideeEight, dixiedogbud, blacknight, Draco Lover, mutsumi, ~* paper star *~ , Rebecca, heavengurl899, MoonDancerCat, Aniron, JoeBob1379, mya14(x3), ckret2, danapotter, Jockaroo, anon, hyper_shark, dragon eyes (x2), Xtreme Nuisance, angkat14, uRban-AngEL, JAMTillDawn, Libertas, KeeperOfTheMoon(x3), Jennifer, romasi, kei-chan, rubberducks!

 This chapter is slightly longer than normal… 2 pages longer. Consider it a very early Xmas present! Actually, I got carried away again. But you aren't complaining!

To answer questions: I don't know how long this is going to be (I only finalised the plot this week, and have still to slot it into chapters!) but it looks like being long. I adored the film, it was loads better than the first… the acting was better, especially the children's. I'll review people's fics if I have time, but I'm really busy what with school and writing…

Does anyone here read Cassandra Claire's fics? If you don't, go to www.schnoogle.com and look her up! She's really amazing *bows before the superior writer*. To those who have read it – there's a new chapter of Draco Veritas, chapter eleven, which was up yesterday – me and my friends were the first people on there! If you've read that chapter, all I can say is 'THAT was unexpected!'

But for now, I'll leave you to enjoy my fic.

~*~

Hermione stared at Draco like he'd gone insane. From her point of view, he very probably had.

'Malfoy,' she began, 'you've kidnapped me, locked me in your dungeons, and you really expect me to believe you when you give me some made-up story and say that we fell in _love_? That's worse than pathetic.'

He didn't react, just watched with clear eyes and a carefully blank expression. Except for the eyes. There was always something in his eyes, hiding just out of reach, and it was driving her mad.

'I knew you wouldn't believe me.' he said quietly. 

For some reason, this simple phrase unnerved her. He was behaving too strangely… She tried to explain it away as just good acting, but something was wrong. 

She stared at him, her eyebrows furrowed, before turning her face to the wall to sleep. She cursed herself for being unnerved. She knew it was just pretence, she shouldn't be fooled.

Right?

~*~

It was now that Draco couldn't sleep. He lay awake, staring into nothingness long after Hermione had fallen into a gentle slumber. He hoped it was as peaceful as it looked.

He should just try to forget about her. How could he ever get her back? 'When pigs fly' as the Muggle saying went. He had lived perfectly well without her for fifteen out of sixteen years. Couldn't he live without her now?

The problem was, he'd gotten used to having her around. He'd never before had someone he could talk to, someone he could tell things, who would listen and actually care. But Hermione cared. He'd been brought up to believe that having feelings and fears was wrong, made you weak. But when you told things to Hermione, they made you stronger. He hadn't told her everything – in fact, he hadn't told her much at all. But simply knowing he could…

Now he couldn't.

He should have made her turn back when he had the chance. He hadn't wanted her to come in the first place, he had known it was too dangerous for her to come… and yet she wanted to come. Gryffindor bravery – no, not just Gryffindor bravery. Hermione bravery.

~*~*~*~

The moon was full, which was both good and bad. Good, because it lit the Hogwarts driveway admirably; every stone stood out in clear relief, etched in a striking contrast of black and white. Bad, because it made the Forbidden Forest loom ominously to his left. 

Draco had been irrationally nervous about going too near the Forbidden Forest ever since his first year, when he'd come across that… _thing_ drinking unicorn blood. He hadn't found out until later that it was Voldemort. His father had told him, adding that 'the Dark Lord was disappointed by your lack of nerve' with that hard, calculating look that meant he would be punished later.

It was a strangely calm scene, for the beginning of a dangerous ordeal. The grass rippled in the wind, a well-clipped ocean. The trees had lost their leaves, which flew joyfully about, playing childish games of Tig in the breeze. The dry air lent a sense of crispness to the scene, heightening his senses. 

The gates of Hogwarts, marking the boundary of the new wards that had been put up after the Triwizard Tournament, remained obstinately on the horizon, growing with every step. Step, step, step. He listened to the regular, steady pound as his feet hit the ground, underscored by the tense drumbeat of his heart. One-man band, he thought ironically.

Step, step, step. Thump, thump, thump. The steady beat continued ever on, occasionally added to when he walked through a crisp pile of leaves. And now the gates were closer.

Step, step, step. Crunch, as he walked through the papery leaves. He paused a moment, looking up at the gates, wondering why he didn't just turn back to school. For Hermione…

…_crunch_…

Draco spun around, instantly alert. 'Who's there?' He had heard something, he was sure… the light crunch of a foot that didn't want to be heard stepping in leaves. The thought he might have imagined it never crossed his mind. Malfoy's didn't hear things that weren't there…

He couldn't see whoever was following him. That meant they were using an Invisibility spell, or wearing an Invisibility Cloak. There was only one person in the school who owned one of them, and Draco couldn't imagine Harry following him. Or Ron, for that matter. Since there was only one person he knew who could probably cast the complex Invisibility spell, and she also happened to be Harry's other friend… 

'Hermione, show yourself.'

She pulled the Cloak off her head, frowning. The moonlight caught her face, creating a symphony of light and shadow that was more exquisite than the most praised of any artist's work. 'How did you know it was me?'

'Elementary, my dear Hermione.' he quipped, unable to resist it despite the imminent danger they were in. 'Why are you here?'

She looked at the floor, reminding Draco strongly of a misbehaving child confessing her wrongdoing to the teacher. 'When you got out your Potions essay, the letter fell out on the desk, and I read it…'

'You shouldn't have read it.' He folded his arms defensively. 'It's my personal letter, it could have been perfectly innocent…'

'Oh yes, because when I see a letter signed 'Lucius' at the bottom it's really going to be a nice friendly letter full of paternal warmth, isn't it?'

There was a silence. Hermione pulled the Invisibility Cloak further around her for the meagre warmth it offered, shivering as the wind tore at her with its fingers. A leaf whirled around her like a planet orbiting the nearest star.

'I'm coming with you.' she added.

'You are _not_.'

'I am.' She looked determined, her face set and unchangeable as rock.

'Did you actually read the part of the letter where my father said he was going to kill you?' Draco asked. He was afraid for Hermione, and fear made him angry. 'He can and will, trust me. I'm not letting my sadistical father anywhere near you. If you set foot near him you're _dead_. You're not going.'

'I'm not letting you go alone.' she stated. 'I don't care about your father. I'm coming whatever you say.'

A very small part of Draco's mind was almost touched by the fact that she would risk her own life to go with him. However, it was shoved hard to one side by the rest of his mind, which screamed that she was being idiotically reckless and suicidal.

'You're not coming.' he stated, then abruptly turned and ran towards the gates. If he could get outside them before she caught up with him, he could Portkey away, leaving her behind with no way to follow. He couldn't let her come, no matter how much she wanted to. He was running for her life, and he felt an insane glory as he broke away from her – almost as if he had foiled one of his father's plans. 

Her footsteps pounded behind his, but demanding Quidditch practices had given him greater speed. The wind whipped his hair back from his face, his goal clear – the gate. He reached for the letter in one pocket, held it tightly. With every passing second, the gates grew closer, and the steady thud of Hermione's feet receded.

Suddenly, he heard a small scream from behind. He paused – just inside the wards, his hand on the letter, only one step necessary to transport him away. Hermione had slipped on a wet leaf, and was cannoning towards him like a graceless Bludger. Before he could move, she had fallen straight into him, knocking him over… through the gate, outside the wards. He felt the jerk that indicated Portkey travel, Hermione's arm still around his waist where she had grabbed him to stop her fall. He cursed her mentally with every word he knew. If she died tonight, it would be completely and entirely _his fault_…

~*~*~*~

Hard to believe it had only been a few hours ago that she would have risked herself to protect him, in such an idiotic, reckless, irresponsible, senseless, foolish, rash, brave, kind and caring way. How had he lost so much in a matter of hours? Life didn't change like that, take sudden turns and tear the very fabric of your life from underfoot.

He spent an hour watching nothingness, trying in vain to think about something else. But his mind was always drawn irrevocably back to the strange and unfamiliar ache inside him, a gap that was supposed to be filled by Hermione's love. But the gap was empty, and through it rushed a never-ending stream of pain and loss.

It felt quite strange, as though there were two Dracos. One was caught in the torrent of loss, tossed and battered by the cruel waters. The other was sitting somewhere high up in his mind, without feeling or empathy, analysing and comprehending everything that went on.

An indeterminable length of time passed. It could have been mere minutes, or half a day. However long it was, it was long enough for the sun's tendrils to turn into filigree gold on the ceiling, broken into shards by the silhouettes of the trees outside.

There was a sudden sharp rasp as the door swung open, and Draco knew – without seeing – that it had awoken Hermione. He opened one eye, and recognised their house elf. What was its – _her_ – name? Ditty?

'Ditty has brought a meal.' she squeaked. She carried two bowls of a suspiciously colourless soup. Hermione sat up, smiling.

'Thank you.' she said, taking a bowl. Draco recognised the pattern: these were the expensive bowls his mother had gotten from an old friend for a birthday, and thrown out because she couldn't stand the rose print on them. The friend in question hadn't been seen at the Manor since then. Narcissa was known for being very fickle where it came to presents.

Draco accepted his bowl with a nod. '_Thank_ you.' he said, watching Hermione out of the corner of his eye. She stopped, mid sip, and stared at him over the rim of her bowl, before realising what she was doing and returning to her soup with a well-aimed glare.

Ditty was so unaccustomed to being thanked, _especially_ by Malfoys, that she looked as though Christmas had come early. 'You are welcome.' she said, with a wide smile that most people would find endearing, but Draco found eerily creepy.

Wishing for a spoon, he took a cautious sip of the soup to discover it wasn't as bad as he first thought – not only did it smell of nothing, it also tasted of nothing. He finished it quickly, and set the bowl onto the floor.

There was silence in the cell, save for the graceful slurping as Hermione ate. She hated hurrying food. He had seen her a thousand times in the Great Hall, watching her from the other side of the room, eating slowly and tidily. The only times she had ever hurried were when she wanted to get to the library fast, or when she wanted to do work, or when she was planning to meet him after the meal…

'So, Ditty,' she began, 'how are you? Did the food burn?'

Ditty nodded sadly. 'Yes, Miss Hermione. Master Lucius was very angry with Ditty...' She lifted up a corner of her pillowcase to reveal a pair of oversized feet, covered with blisters and burns. Draco, having been on the receiving end of his father's anger more times than he liked to remember, couldn't help but feel sympathetic.

'Oh, you poor thing!' Hermione exclaimed. 'Do they hurt? If only I had my wand! I could heal them… How could Lucius do something like that! Oh, that… that…'

'They do not hurt too much, Miss…' began Ditty, attempting to reassure her and possibly cutting off some very violent swear words. 'Master Lucius is a very very cruel man…' Ditty's wide blue eyes glanced towards Draco, who leant against the wall, watching lethargically.

Hermione sighed. 'You're always so mysterious whenever it comes to Malfoy. Why won't you tell me?'

She was talking about him as if he wasn't there, and he still couldn't stop loving her. He wondered whether he would ever be able to, or if he would wander the world in this half-mad daze forever.

'It is Master Draco's business…' Draco found the elf's gaze uncomfortable. Maybe it was the wideness of the eyes – they seemed to stare at you, learning in that one gaze all your secrets, noting all the creases and dirty patches on your clothes…

'If this is the business about Lucius and the Memory Charm, I've already told her, and she doesn't believe me.' Draco stated. His old drawl crept back into his voice, which was a sure sign to anyone who knew him well that he was being defensive.

'Miss Hermione… does not believe it?' questioned Ditty.

'Oh, for heaven's sake!' Hermione exclaimed. 'Not this rubbish again! I'm not completely stupid, you know.'

'But surely Miss Hermione realises?' asked Ditty. 'Ditty has overheard Master Lucius talking… there will be gaps in your memory where important events are missing…'

'There aren't any gaps in my memory!'

'Who rescued you when Master Lucius kidnapped you for the first time? Who jumped in the way of the Killing Curse when Master Lucius tried to kill you?'

Hermione opened her mouth; shut it again with a puzzled expression. 'Ron and Harry rescued me…'

'But there was someone else too!' Ditty by now seemed almost ecstatic.

'You can't seriously expect me to believe this? Both those times I was tortured, I was under stress, I couldn't be expected to remember everything… there's a logical explanation for it all, and you're just trying to confuse me.'

Draco recognised the pattern of someone who is beginning to doubt their own argument, and a savage thrill of hope and fear jolted through him.

Hermione had decided to change tack. 'Did Lucius force you to lie like this?' she asked sympathetically. 'I know you can ignore it, you've been practicing, he doesn't have complete power over you… he hardly has any power over you at all!'

'Ditty is not lying, Miss Hermione, Ditty is telling the truth! And,' she went on, sobering, 'Master Lucius has a lot of power over me, being able to say things against him is a very little victory…'

It took Draco less than a glance to read the expression on Hermione's face: she was sympathetic, and truly sorry for the little elf. It struck him that Hermione was the only person whose face he had ever learnt to read. The concept of his father showing an emotion was laughable, he barely saw his mother, and none of the Slytherins trusted anyone. 

Hermione was different. Everything she thought or felt flew across her face, unguarded, unhidden, like the proverbial open book. It was something fundamentally unlike anything Draco had known before, as though he had somehow found a path that led to another happier world.

But now, looking at her sympathetic face, it was almost painful. As if he had lost that path, lost the world it led to. And, he realised, he had.

'I hate Lucius.' Hermione said in a small voice. Her expression had changed again, and now she looked sad and pensive, her head bent and staring at no fixed point. 'I hate him because he's cruel to everyone. And I hate his dungeon, and I hate his house, and I hate his entire family, and I hate prejudice.'

She had spoken all this in a level tone. Ditty shook her head sadly.

'You didn't hate his whole family. You didn't hate Master Draco.' Ditty said sadly. It took Draco a moment to realise why she'd said that – he didn't think of himself as a part of Lucius' family anymore.

'I did.' Hermione stated tonelessly. She was thinking, only paying half her attention to the conversation. Draco had seen her like this before, when they'd been working together and suddenly he realised she wasn't paying any attention to what he was saying because she was completely lost in her work. Her brow furrowed. 'Why do you always call him Master?' she asked, indicating Draco.

'Master Lucius told me to treat Master Draco as though he were my master too.' Ditty said. 'That was a long time ago, before he fell… before Master Lucius was angry with him.'

Hermione nodded vaguely, lost and floating in thought. Draco always wondered what she was thinking of when she went like this. She looked so relaxed, not fully there, her senses suspended as she wandered through her mind…

And then suddenly, he saw the floating cease, a moment of perfect stillness – of inspiration. Her eyes glowed.

'If you have to treat him as your master,' she said, and Draco found the way she referred to him as though he wasn't there painful, 'doesn't that mean that if he gave you clothes, theoretically, you would be free?'

Ditty stared at her, wide eyed. 'It might…'

Two pairs of eyes turned towards Draco. 'Malfoy, take off a sock.' Hermione ordered, her voice as uncaring as steel, and he found himself missing her acutely. How could he miss someone who was in the same room as him? But it wasn't the same Hermione, it was a different side of her: the side of her that had never learnt to love him.

Acting as though he didn't care, he carefully unlaced his shoe and pulled off one slightly smelly sock, which he extended towards Ditty. The house elf reached for it with wide eyes and shaking hands. The instant she held it, clutched to her chest with both hands, she squealed, 'I'm free! I'm free!'

She pointed at the door, and it swung wide open.

~*~

**A/N:** Next Chapter – we finally get to see Harry and Ron! Plus love, hate, and escape.

I've noticed I get more reviews if I threaten people. Violence _is_ the answer! So review, or my lovely hedgehog friend will find it's way into your armpit…


	5. The Insanity Raging

The Insanity Raging

**Disclaimer:** J.K.Rowling owns all the characters but Ditty, although she's welcome to borrow her if she wants. 

**A/N:** 186 reviews! Thanks go to: KeeperOfTheMoon, KAOS, Wind Elf, rubberducks, Malishka, dracoNmione, willowfairy (x2), Siobhan (madiszon) The Dragon Guardian Of The Sea, Katrina, Queen Li, Mystical_Fascination, Dragonsbane, Escaflowne no Miko, Akira Gown, Rebecca, mutsumi, Sanaria, Tendra, Seisui Megami, kei-chan, Draco Lover, ~* paper star *~, hyper_shark, MoonDancerCat, ?????, New Light, Xtreme Nuisance, mya14, liklpwincs, Saotoshi Hatsuma (x4)(x15 on F+I!) JAMTillDawn, Purple People Eater, heavengurl899, dragon eyes, danapotter, VanillaStar, Rinsa, Angel: da Newsies fan, dixiedogbud, AideeEight, Italia12 (x4), lexi wood (x2), angellumpcioos, Romantic Fool (x3)!

Also, a big thank you goes out to everyone who reviewed Fire and Ice, which just passed 800 reviews! I'm bouncing on my bed with joy, but the springs are squeaking menacingly…

I think someone (Akira Gown?) thought that the door opening was someone entering the cell. Read over the end of last chapter – it was Ditty using her new freedom to let them all out.

I seem to have caught, not writer's block, but its complete opposite. Instead of not being able to write, I'm unable to stop myself writing. Which means you have yet again a super-length chapter – 7 pages on the dot. Enjoy it!

~*~

Harry paced the floor of the Gryffindor common room, for no other real reason than that he didn't know what to do, and pacing was what they did in books and films. He ran a hand through already messy black hair. 'Where could they be?'

'We've already said this a million times. Malfoy Manor.' Ron was sitting in an armchair, sunken deeply into its cushions. In one hand he held an old Charms textbook, in the other a roll of Spellotape. Pages seventy-one to one hundred and fifty-six were laid out on the table in front of him, and he was slowly but surely sticking each one back in place. 'Where else could they be?'

Harry threw himself onto a sofa. 'I know, I know.'

There was silence for a few minutes. Harry fidgeted on the sofa, trying to think of something. Some way to help Hermione. And Draco.

It still didn't feel quite right, calling him by his first name. It had been a slow and arduous process, learning to get along. He suspected that they would have murdered each other a long time ago if not for Hermione. As it was, they managed to get on, having civil conversations and using first names against years of habit. But Hermione was happy, and Draco _did_ care for her. And he supposed that was what mattered.

'We should be grateful she's with Draco, I suppose.' Harry said eventually. 'At least he'll watch out for her… but I wish I could _do_ something.'

'Stop getting worked up. Draco's with her, as you pointed out. He'd die before he let her be hurt. He almost did, remember, when the school got attacked by Death Eaters and he jumped in the way of the killing spell?'

'And then you knocked his father out before he could kill anyone, yes, I remember.' Harry replied. 'I just hate not being able to do anything.'

'Do something else, get your mind off them.' Ron recommended, accidentally tearing the piece of paper with pages ninety-three and ninety-four on in half. He mouthed an obscenity, which Harry was fairly sure Mrs. Weasley wouldn't approve of.

'You know you could just use a charm to stick them in?' he said.

'I tried it, but all the pages went back in the wrong order.' Ron grumbled, trying to remove some Spellotape that had accidentally wrapped itself around his fingers. 'Do your Transfiguration homework or something.'

'That's not due for weeks!'

'Just do it. It's distracting having you moaning. I almost stuck page eighty-five opposite page eighty-two before.'

Rolling his eyes, Harry headed up the stairs that led to his dormitory.

When he returned a few minutes later, arms aching from the pile of huge textbooks in his arms, he found Professor McGonagall standing in the middle of the common room. Ron turned to smile at him, a look of excitement in his eyes.

'They're back!'

~*~

'Now that we're out of the cell, the question is how do we get back to Hogwarts?' Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully, trying to ignore the fact that Malfoy was in the room. Hopefully they could just get back to Hogwarts and ignore each other. No more of this ridiculous psychological warfare… trying to get her to think she loved him indeed!

'Ditty knows the passages.' said the little house elf, whose eyes were wide and brimming with joyful tears. She wore Draco's sock proudly on one foot, and when she walked she trod as though she was wearing a sock of solid gold encrusted with jewels. 'Ditty can lead you out of the house.'

'We should get out of here before my father comes.' said Draco, who was leaning against a cabinet that stood against one wall. 'Lets get out of here first and worry about getting back later.'

'Whatever happened to Slytherins with their cunning planning?' she asked spitefully. He gave a graceful shrug.

'Fine. Ditty, lead us out of here.'

When she looked back later, Hermione always remembered the escape as an endless succession of twisting corridors, each one just as grey and colourless as the last. She remembered the light: cold and colourless moonlight slanting down from high, imposing windows. She remembered carrying Ditty on her shoulders so they could move faster, and remembered how Malfoy was detached and silent. 

It was the silence that she remembered most of all, silence like the edge of a knife – with a subtle wrongness about it, the potential to harm, although she couldn't tell why she felt that way. After all, it was a perfectly normal silence, broken only by the two pairs of footsteps on unforgiving stone and occasional joyful squeals or directions from Ditty. It was the kind of silence made by two people not speaking to each other, but an inner sense told her that it should be filled.

When they finally opened the last door and found themselves only meters from the road, the change in atmosphere left the senses reeling. From dull greys they emerged into a paradise of after-dark contrasts, beneath an ebony sky punctuated with tiny crystalline stars. The moon's light was silver now, glittering on the leaves of trees and casting dramatic shadows. The musty smell and dismal echoes of the claustrophobic corridors had given way to fresh, clean air, filled with the noises of night – the wind stirring up the branches of the trees and the almost imperceptible sounds of nocturnal animals far away.

Draco walked to the edge of the road, slowly and with an almost pensive look on his face. 'I'm not sure if this will work, but…' Carefully and deliberately, he held out his left arm.

There was an instant when he looked ridiculous. And then – BANG! 

Hermione jumped, gasping despite herself. The thing that had just appeared on the road was so big and so colourful that she couldn't take it all in at one glance. It looked faintly ridiculous. The violent purple shading was alleviated only by intermittent windows that looked as if they hadn't been cleaned in years, and probably harboured some extremely rare germs amongst the grime. Golden lettering flashed in the moonlight:

_'The Knight Bus._'

Hermione, of course, had read about the Knight Bus. It had been started in 1988, she remembered, by a Ministry official named…

Draco cut off her attention by turning towards her. 'Transport. Who said I couldn't plan?' he asked, in a vaguely amused tone of voice.

Hermione scowled at him, her mind working quickly to come up with a suitable retort. She had always hated him for his blind prejudice and cruel bullying ways. The fact that he was trying to get her to believe that load of rubbish about Memory Charms irritated her, probably more than was really rational. She put this down to the fact that the very idea of _loving_ him was repulsive.

 'And how do you intend to pay for the bus?' she pointed out, smirking spitefully at having found a flaw in his plan. 'We haven't any money.'

Draco frowned but didn't get a chance to reply, because at that moment the bus doors slid open and a tall, gangly figure dressed in the same garish tones as the bus stepped onto the path. Hermione had heard Harry's tales of his escape from the Dursleys in third year, and she guessed this was Stan Shunpike. Had Harry been there, he would have noticed some differences: he had grown taller and lost the pimples, although his sticking out ears still remained.

'Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transportation…' he began, before trailing off at the sight of them. His eyes grew wide.

'Ern, look 'ere!' he exclaimed. 'It's those kids that were in the paper!'

Draco had assumed an angelic expression, which Hermione itched to slap. 'Excuse me, but what do you mean?'

Stan turned and picked something up from near the driver's seat. He held it out towards the two of them, and Hermione could clearly see that it was a recent copy of the Daily Prophet. More surprising was the fact that there were two separate moving photographs of herself and Draco, under the headline 'Search For Missing Hogwarts Pupils Continues!'

'Everyone's been searchin' for you. There's been a notice on the Muggle news an' all.' Stan stared at them like the Holy Grail. 'What happened?'

'It's a rather long story.' Draco said. 'We really need to get back to Hogwarts, but we don't have any money with us…'

'That's alrigh', we can let you on for free, can't we Ern?' Stan puffed out his chest self-importantly. 'We're doin' our civic duty, 'elping you back to 'Ogwarts.' He ushered them onto the bus, having paid no attention whatsoever to Ditty. But then, Hermione remembered, wizards never _did_ pay attention to house elves.

She took a bed at the far end of the bus, and sat upright on it, resting her chin on her knees. Ditty sat beside her, euphoric with freedom. She seemed to consider that the best thing to do with her freedom was to compose extremely rude poems about Lucius. Hermione wondered where she'd learnt some of the ruder words, but didn't say anything about it. Secretly, she agreed wholeheartedly.

Stan kept running around the bus, from the front to welcome new passengers, to Draco who was tactfully sitting away from her, and then up the aisle to Hermione. He seemed to think that they would die if he didn't check on them every five minutes. 

The bus journey was as boring as most. She couldn't even stare out of the window, as the thick coating of grime was almost impossible to see through. Eventually she asked to borrow Stan's copy of the Daily Prophet, which he gave her with a reverential respect similar to a high priest honouring a deity.

'On Tuesday night,' Hermione read aloud, hoping to disrupt the flow of rude poetry, 'two Hogwarts students vanished mysteriously from the school. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore said that he was 'treating the disappearances as very suspicious.' Aurors have been alerted and are currently searching the country.

'The search so far has revealed nothing of sixth year pupils Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. The two missing children are among the highest academic achievers in the school. In Gryffindor and Slytherin respectively, sources confirm they have overcome the traditional hatred between the two houses, and have been boyfriend and girlfriend for six months…'

Hermione stared at the sentence. Shock was her first thought, but was quickly replaced with a surge of anger. First Malfoy tried to get her to believe it, then he got Ditty to try to convince her, and now he'd even somehow misinformed the Daily Prophet. Why was he doing this? Only one thought presented itself – he was trying to mess with her mind, to drive her insane. And very possibly succeeding.

' Does Miss Hermione believe now?' asked Ditty in a very quiet voice.

'No!' she said with a vehemence that surprised even herself. 'He's trying to drive me mad or something.'

It couldn't be true. All her life, all her years at Hogwarts, Malfoy had hated her. She had hated him. It had been a certainty, like the rising of the sun or the tides. And then he came along with his ridiculous story of Memory Charms and love and it was ridiculous, laughable, except if it wasn't true then why were there all these gaps in her memory and why did Ditty and the Daily Prophet say it was true and why did she somehow have an instinct deep inside her…

She stared at the photograph version of Malfoy, gazing smugly and arrogantly at the world. Her fingernails dug into the photograph of their own accord, denting and tearing the cheap paper. 

She cast the paper onto the opposite bed. 'It's not true.' she stated. 

Had she looked closely at the photograph of Draco, she would have seen a look that on another's face would have been described as heartbroken.

 ~*~

The escape from Malfoy Manor had not gone at all the way Hermione had expected. In books, escapes always involved danger and excitement. Often there were heroic rescues, clever tricks or pursuing enemies – quite like Harry and Ron's rescue the previous year, which in her imagination had become like a Muggle action film.

But their escape had been almost too easy – after they had figured out how to free Ditty and unlock the door, it had been effortless. Their journey through the underground passages of Malfoy Manor had been without obstruction, they had travelled back to Hogwarts on the Knight Bus even though they didn't have any money. They had reached the Great Hall after everyone was in their dormitories, and given Professor McGonagall the fright of her life when she had inadvertently walked into them.

Now they were waiting in Dumbledore's office, sitting in separate chairs before the Headmaster's desk. Hermione felt uncomfortable under the gaze of the portraits hung around the walls, which seemed to peer at her critically. She became acutely aware that she had been wearing the same clothes for almost two days now, and that they were creased and covered in dirt. She began to ache for a shower.

Ditty, who was sitting in between Hermione and Draco, tugged her sleeve for attention. 'Ditty has been thinking.' she said in a whisper. Dumbledore's office seemed to overawe her. 'Ditty wonders if Miss Hermione could ask Professor Dumbledore if Ditty could… come and work at Hogwarts? Ditty doesn't want to have no work, and Ditty's old mistress thought very highly of Professor Dumbledore…'

Hermione smiled. 'I'll ask him. I'm sure he'll let you. The Malfoy's last house elf works here too, his name is Dobby…'

She was cut off in mid speech by the entrance of Dumbledore. Ditty seemed to shrink further into the seat from nerves. 

Dumbledore smiled benevolently. 'I must congratulate you, Miss. Granger. I believe that this must be a record. Normally, I find you or your friends in here at the end of summer term with a tale of mortal peril to relate to me. However,' he said, seating himself in the ancient chair and looking the two of them in the eye, 'this year, it seems to have taken you just one month.'

Hermione blushed involuntarily. 'I'm sorry.' she said in a sudden rush of guilt. 'I should have been more careful…'

'It is not your fault.' Dumbledore assured her. 'Professor McGonagall is bringing your friends from the common room. They have been, as I'm sure you can guess, extremely worried.' 

Hermione barely had time to nod before a knock on the door announced their arrival, and she whipped round in her seat, excited by the prospect of seeing her friends again. Professor McGonagall opened the door with a polite smile.

 'Mister Potter and Mister Weasley, as you requested, Albus.' she said, holding the door open. Harry and Ron entered, grinning from ear to ear.

'Hermione!' they exclaimed together, and in the ensuing muddle of anxious enquiries and assurances that she was 'Absolutely fine' she completely missed the fact that both boys gave Malfoy a short nod - not a particularly friendly nod, more a nod of recognition.

A soon as Harry and Ron had sat down in the rather hard chairs to Hermione's right, Dumbledore spoke. 'Now, I would appreciate it if the two of you would tell me more about your adventures.'

Hermione opened her mouth to begin her account, starting with how they left Hogwarts… and stopped. Because she couldn't remember. She remembered watching Harry and Ron play Quidditch at lunchtime, and something about a library and books, but then… She knew she had been in the Potions lesson, because she remembered handing in her essay. But she couldn't remember who she had been working with.

The inexplicable loss of memory frightened her. She had always relied on memory, on memorising anything she would ever need. It made her feel safer, ready for any situation. But when things began to vanish… and the only possible alternative was even worse than the memory loss.

'Is something wrong?' asked Dumbledore. Hermione shook her head.

'It's just…'

'My father cast a Memory Charm on her.' Draco said, his tone neutral and so guarded that it verged on sounding bored. 'She doesn't remember anything about me since we…' he trailed off, letting the obvious remain unsaid.

Hermione frowned at him. 'Will you stop lying? There's no way on Earth I'm ever going to believe you, so just… stop messing with my mind!' She had to restrain herself from using inappropriate language. She was in front of the Headmaster, after all.

'Wait, are you trying to say that Hermione's forgotten she ever loved you?' Harry asked incredulously.

'What do you mean, 'she ever loved you'?' Hermione's tone became a little wild. 'I never loved him. Stop being so… ridiculous!'

'Miss Granger,' began Dumbledore with a frown, 'I realise this must come as a great shock to you, but he speaks the truth. You have been romantically involved, to my knowledge, for at least six months.'

He went on to say something else, something about memory and side effects and forgetting, but Hermione didn't hear. A curious deafness had come over her, a deafness that wasn't being _unable_ to hear so much as being _unwilling_ to hear. It couldn't be true, it couldn't. She and Malfoy hated each other. She remembered how he'd called her a Mudblood in second year, and laughed when poor Ron's spell went wrong. She remembered slapping him in third year, and how he had tried to get Hagrid fired. She remembered him taunting her at the Quidditch World Cup.

More than these, she remembered the little things. The smirks, the taunts. The way he would knock her arm in Potions if he had the chance, trying to ruin her work. The way he always had a smart answer for anything she could throw at him. The way he looked down at everything. The way he treated her as the lowest of the low, as nothing more than a worm or slug or other slimy unpleasant thing…

Hermione Granger hated Draco Malfoy. How could it be any different?

But now a thin line of doubt was emerging, worming it's way into her reasoning_. But you've lost your memory. You can't remember some things. And sometimes you catch yourself thinking about him as if you know him well. It could be true…_

Hermione stood sharply upright, interrupting Dumbledore mid speech. 'Okay, the joke's over.' she said. 'I'm sure it was really funny, but can we please get back to serious matters now?'

At the beginning of the sentence, her voice had been firm and resolute. By the end, it was a plea.

'Hermione…' began Harry, and that was when Hermione's very last reserves of denial broke into fragments. Because she could tell when her friends were lying, and they weren't.

_They weren't lying._

Hermione threw a wild glance around the room: Harry and Ron, their faces anxious but slightly puzzled, Dumbledore, a serious and pensive frown upon his face, and Malfoy, who she'd never seen quite like this – or she didn't _remember_ seeing him so – looking pale as snow and almost vulnerable. Unguarded.

Hermione turned and fled, the insanity raging in her ears.

~*~

**A/N:** Hermione's stopped denying it at last! A while more to go before they actually fall back in love, but I can guarantee they'll be back together a good way before the end.

Reviews please! Otherwise I'll… ack. Imagine your worst nightmare and imagine I said it.


	6. Shattered Memories

Shattered Memories

**Disclaimer:** Characters and places are owned by J.K.Rowling. The name Ditty and the plot belong to me. The Latin phrases used belong to the Ancient Romans.

**A/N:** 236 reviews! Thanks to: lil kawaii doom, silverhair, MoonDancerCat, Lauren, The Dragon Guardian Of The Sea, MaliShka, Lady Raven, KAOS, Rebecca, rubberducks, C, dixiedogbud, anon, JoeBob1379 (x2), paper star, JAMTillDawn, Queen Li, Seisui Megami, lexi wood (x2), Saotoshi Hatsuma, angelumpcioous, Sanaria, Madizon, aliveforever83, kei-chan, Draco Lover, hyper_shark, Romantic Fool, anon, mya14, mutsumi, Lulu81, KeeperOfTheMoon, willowfairy, Myrrdin, Emyrs,  Katrina, danapotter, AideeEight, angkat14, Xtreme Nuisance, Akira Gown, dragon eyes, Hp1fan, Italia12, MoonTrail, heavengurl899, animegirl-mika!

This is longer than normal, but not as long as the other chapters. The anti-block has worn off, and as most of this chapter is focused on one character with very little dialogue, it was hard to write. It was intended to have another flashback on the end, but I decided to leave it off in the interests of getting it up on time.

Some Latin is used in this chapter. The translations are at the end. (And if anyone needs things translating into Latin for a fic, mention it in a review – I'll be glad to help!)

I break up for the holidays on Wednesday! Finding writing time shouldn't be too hard, but I'm also going to attempt the beginning of my book. Those of you who remember the Laekalia, the sections from that were based on the book. Wish me luck everyone!!!

This chapter is dedicated to Kaitee/Jesse, or JAMTillDawn as she's known on here. She's a brilliant friend, a fellow D/Hr lover, and a wonderful writer. And I should be tortured by Lucius for lying to her. Jesse, you're a mate in a million!

~*~

Draco lay, sleepless, on his bed in the Slytherin dormitory. The moonlight seeped uneasily through the window to reveal his blankets, pulled so far up that he was in danger of suffocation if he slid down an inch. He was curled into a position that could have been described as foetal. 

When he was a child, he had slept stiffly: flat on his back, arms straight out by his side. It had been the Glacios curse which changed that, as it had changed so many other things in his life. He remembered that first night under the curse: pulling the blankets tightly around him even though he knew they did no good, curling up almost involuntarily, shuddering every time he touched his own icy flesh. Even after the curse had been cured, he still slept in the same way. 

But Draco wasn't thinking about how he slept. As he stared at the wall with unseeing eyes, he was replaying endlessly the scene in Dumbledore's office. Hermione believed now. He had read it in her eyes, seen the slow change from denial to belief. But with the belief had come horror. Horror, and fear, and a little revulsion.

Had she really hated him that much? Had he really been so cruel to her that the mere thought of loving him sent her running from the room?

Yes.

He had. He had been horrible to her. Image after image chased through his mind: calling her a Mudblood in second year, and laughing at Ron as he burped up slugs. The anger in her eyes when she'd slapped him in third year. Taunting her at the Quidditch World Cup. And the more he remembered, the more it seemed she would hate him forever. How could she choose to even try to get her memory back? He didn't deserve her, not after everything he had done. 

But he still hoped. Hoped with the grim determination of someone who has no reason to hope, no way out they can see, no solution to a seemingly impossible problem. But what else could he do?

~*~

The common room was empty when Harry and Ron entered half an hour later. Dramatic shadows were cast onto the ceiling from the low fires. The vibrant crimsons and golds had acquired a more subtle tone in the dim light, seeming richer and somehow grander than usual. An unnatural silence hung over the place, like that which settles in a library or old house. It was like a spell, capturing and holding the room in a single moment, like a fly caught in amber.

They found Hermione sitting alone in front of the fireplace, staring absently into the flames. Without speaking, Harry and Ron sat down next to her. She gave no indication that she had noticed.

'Are you alright?' Harry asked, his voice breaking the spell of silence. No one spoke for a while, but the weight of the quiet had gone. Some indefinable quality had made the silence into a simple pause. Now, there was something coming, an anticipation hanging in the air, an answer to the question.

Eventually, in a very small, quiet voice: 'Yes.'

Pause.

'Do you know what you're going to do about it?' asked Harry, his tone of voice indicating that Hermione need not answer if she didn't want to. 

'Because we've talked about it, and we're going to go along with whatever you want.' Ron added quickly. 'We're not going to go on at you about all the good and bad points, or try and bias you at all, we're just going to let you decide.'

Hermione smiled at his awkward assurance: the first change of expression the boys had seen since she ran from Dumbledore's office. 'Thanks.' she said in the same small voice. Then she sighed heavily, rubbing the knuckle of one thumb with the other hand – a habit she had when worried. When she spoke, she didn't look at them, not moving her eyes from the feeble fire.

'I still hate Lucius. I still remember that. I remember him kidnapping me, and hurting me, and hurting others. I can't remember who he hurt, but it was Mal – Draco, wasn't it?' She didn't pause for confirmation. She seemed to be speaking more to herself than to Harry or Ron. 'And now he's doing it again, with my memory. It's like… a violation. Of me. He's stolen that part of me, and…' 

She shuddered in spite of the flames. Then she straightened up, gaining an air of determination and confidence. For an instant, her eyes seemed to reflect the fire. 'I've decided. I'm going to get my memory back.'

Harry and Ron nodded. She stood up, seeming suddenly filled with willpower.

'I'm going to bed. If you want me in the morning, I'll be in the library researching.'

The two boys watched her disappear up the stairs, inwardly relieved. In their estimation, a Hermione who was planning to go to the library for any reason whatsoever was definitely back to normal.

When she had gone, Ron tuned to Harry and asked, 'So what do we do to help?'

Harry frowned. 'First things first. Let's send an owl to Draco, tell him what she's decided. He might have an idea.'

~*~

Fifteen minutes later, at the opposite end of the school, Draco was broken from his gloomy thoughts by the unmistakable sound of someone tapping on glass. Cautiously, he threw the covers back and peered around the silence-charmed hangings.

A large white owl hovered at the window. A snowy owl? Who did he know with a snowy owl? Of course. Memories of breakfasts, watching the Gryffindor table, and seeing that same snowy owl swoop down on the table… It must belong to either Harry or Ron. But why would either of them be writing to him?

About Hermione. The thought propelled him out of bed, and silently across the cold floor, bare feet making no noise on the stone. The darkness was almost complete, apart from the rather pale moonlight. He almost slipped on the edge of his robe, left untidily on a chair seat and trailing onto the floor. Normally, he made sure all his clothes were put away neatly. But today had been… a special case.

He reached the window and pulled hard on the stiff catch. It eased grudgingly open, and the white owl soared into the room. It seemed to regard the dormitory with contempt from its perch on Draco's bed.

He untied the letter, his fingers suddenly refusing to obey him properly. They kept slipping on the knot as he tried impatiently to undo it. At last, the string fell away, and Draco unrolled the parchment.

The letter was neither addressed nor signed, save for a hastily scribbled 'Draco Malfoy' on the outside. Like most of his conversation with Harry or Ron, it was short, to the point and somewhat uncomfortable.

_Hermione decided she wants to get her memory back. She's going to the library tomorrow to research it. Is there anything you can think of which would help?_

Draco read the letter again, checking automatically for any indication they were lying. There was none. 

The letter was irritatingly devoid of information. He wanted to know everything. Why had she decided to get her memory back? Was she alright? Was she miserable, shocked, angry, upset… 

He read through the letter a third time, as if new meanings could be derived from the same words. Hermione was going to the library? Why? If she was going to the library, then he could rule out shock or misery… but he still didn't know why she was doing this. From her point of view, he realised, he was nothing more than a cruel bully. Hermione shouldn't want anything to do with him. Even if he did love her. Even if he missed her so much it hurt – and he had never missed anyone in his life before. He didn't deserve her to remember.

But if that was what she wanted to do, he could only really be thankful. And try to help, as Harry and Ron suggested. There had to be something, something he could tell her, something he could give her…

The answer, when he came to think of it, was obvious. Draco slid soundlessly off the bed and crossed the moonlit floor to his trunk, which squatted at the end of his bed. He undid the catch, and paused before pushing the lid open. The trunk was old, almost antique, heavy mahogany with metal hinges, which had a tendency to squeal loudly when opened.

Draco grabbed his wand from the bedside table, and pointed it at the trunk. He didn't actually know an anti-squeaking charm, but he did know a bit about creating spells. Most spells were based on Latin or Greek, and while there were lots of obscenely complex rules about changing the words around, simply saying something in one of the dead languages had a mild effect. Enough to quiet a squeaky hinge, anyway.

'Cista, non stridebis.' he tried, and a feeble beam of light shot out of his wand and hit the hinges. Carefully, he lifted the trunk open. There was a very faint, almost silent squeal of protest from the hinges. No one awoke.

He lifted a blank piece of parchment carefully from the top of his trunk. Almost as an afterthought, he took a long piece of string, another piece of parchment, and a matching quill and inkpot. He eased the trunk closed, noticing that the effects of his impromptu spell were already lessening, although thankfully the tiny squeak produced was nowhere near loud enough to wake anyone up.

He sat on the end of his bed, next to the rather irate owl who eyed him with a baleful stare. He ignored it. Instead, he placed the first piece of parchment carefully onto the bed beside him, and lifted his wand. 'Redite.'

The parchment shook a little, and then seemed to multiply, doubling by the second until reams of parchment were stacked in a neat pile on his bed. Ink appeared like miniscule rivers of black blood, and spread across the parchment to form neat rows of Hermione's tidy handwriting. Memories flooded back, as the letters she had sent him over the summer appeared before him. 

Dumbledore had decided that he couldn't possibly go to Malfoy Manor for the summer holidays, in light of his father's actions in the attack. There had been nowhere for him to go – Hermione had campaigned to let him come to her house, but her parents had been extremely uncertain about allowing their daughter's boyfriend to spend the summer with them, especially one they'd heard so many bad things about previously. He had spent the summer months at Hogwarts with those teachers who preferred to live at the school rather than at home. 

It had been a lonely summer, with no one to talk to but grownups and house elves. He and Hermione had written to each other every day, often more. This mountainous pile of letters was her half of the communication.

The main problem, when school started again, was what to do with the letters. He didn't want to risk one of the Slytherins finding them. And so, he had Transfigured them into an inconspicuous piece of parchment.

He ran a finger down one edge of the pile, remembering all the letters – the stories she'd told him, the jokes they'd shared. Nostalgically, he picked up the quill and the second piece of parchment, which unlike the first was completely normal and ordinary.

It felt like a century later that he finally decided what to say, how to say it. 

_Harry and Ron owled me to let me know that you had decided to get your memory back. I thought these might help._

The words on the page didn't say enough. He wanted to tell her everything, to tell her that he loved her. But he didn't know how she would react. He didn't know how she felt or why she wanted her memory back, and for the first time in what felt like forever there was something he couldn't tell her.

He placed his letter on top of Hermione's, and tied them together carefully with string. Then he turned to the owl.

'Take these to Hermione.' he said, tying the package tightly to the owl's leg. It gave him a particularly mutinous glare. 'Take them to Hermione, and don't glare at me like that.'

The owl's beak twitched menacingly, as if making clear that in other circumstances it would fly at him and remove a large quantity of skin from his hand with that cruelly curved appendage. It turned towards the window, and flew off into the cold night, seeming glad to be away.

Draco watched it fly away for a moment, realising with some part of his mind that a large amount of his hopes went with it. Still, at least now he had something to hope in, a chance to get her back. Over the past few days, his world had been shattered into tiny pieces that hurt to touch, like shards of broken glass. But now he had a reason to hope, and it was like a cornerstone, promising that something new could be built, a phoenix could rise out of the ashes.

He turned to more practical things. Casting an eye around the lifeless room, his gaze came to rest on his robe, spilling from the chair onto the floor like a black waterfall. Draco couldn't stand mess. He padded softly over and picked up the garment, folding it neatly to hang it over the back of the chair. As he carefully folded the robe in half, he heard something unexpected: a sound of parchment folding from one of the pockets, sounding almost ominous in its abrupt crinkle. 

He knew what it was before he took it out, but stared at it anyway. His father's archaic handwriting stood out against the smooth parchment, mocking him. The letter that had been a Portkey, that had caused him to go running off without thinking, had caused Hermione, brave, caring Hermione, to follow him into danger. It was a reminder of all he had lost; the very curves of the lettering seemed to have a mocking flourish, proclaiming their victory.

No. He mouthed the word, silently on the night air. No, father. You haven't won. You'll never win.

His instinct was to crumple it into a ball, throw it away or burn it. But something made him stop, made him glance again at the letter. It shivered in the cold breeze flowing through the window. Something appealed to that part of Draco that made him Slytherin, and he frowned. It could be useful, having a Portkey that would take him directly to the Manor. A direct route, in case he ever needed to get there fast to rescue some captive or conduct negotiations with his sadistic father…

He transfigured the letter, a simple transfiguration into a blank piece of parchment. It was an effective technique that granted it some safety. Not wanting to risk opening his trunk again, he left it inside one of his schoolbooks that rested on the small table by his bed.

He lay down in bed, closed his eyes and tried to sleep. But all he could think about was Hermione. Images seemed to be imprinted on his eyelids, as though he were watching a Muggle movie: Hermione happy, Hermione sad, Hermione laughing, Hermione bent over her books, Hermione concerned and afraid for him when his father tortured him during the attack, Hermione the last time he had seen her, realising the truth and running from Dumbledore's office in shock.

Love did make you weaker, his father had been right in that respect. But it also made you stronger, in a way. It wasn't the strength of solitude, the cold and Slytherin strength of needing nothing and caring for nothing. It was the strength of always having someone to care for you, of knowing that however bad things got there was someone to fall back on who would listen. Until, of course, this kind of thing happened.

            Draco stared at the deep green hangings of his bed, sinking ever deeper into memory.

~*~

            **A/N:** The Latin translations: 'Cista, non stridebis' – Chest, you will not squeak. 'Redire' – Return.

            I know this chapter was a little boring, but it's a transitional period. There's lots of exciting things planned, I promise! 

            Review! Please, review!


	7. Seeking Perfection

Seeking Perfection

**_MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!_**

**Disclaimer:** However much I may have wanted the rights to this lot for Christmas, none of my presents contained copyright notices. They still belong to J.K. Rowling, that goddess of children's books.

**A/N:** Thanks for 286 reviews goes to: KeeperOfTheMoon, willowfairy, AideeEight, Queen Li, dixiedogbud, The Dragon Guardian Of The Sea, MaliShka, Saotoshi Hatsuma, Purple People Eater, Lilian, Katrina, HP1fan, StarJade, Madiszon, JoeBob1379, asd, Italia12, Sanaria, Zinerva, Rebecca, Akira Gown, paper star, mya14, Romantic Fool, angellumpcious, mutsumi, hyper_shark, Lulu81, MoonDancerCat, ragcey, heavengurl899, Angel: da Newsies fan, Vampiress_Ari, firey fairy, stephen, kei-chan, dragon eyes, Wormmon ABC, Dragonsbane, nicksgurl329, lexi wood, DiLLiRgA (x 6) Mystical Stormz, Xtreme Nusiance, Draco'sAmericanGurl!

I was intending to post yesterday, but simply couldn't resist the lure of making it that little bit longer and posting on Xmas day. As a result, this is my longest ever chapter! Go me!

To all those who commented on the fact that I know Latin: it's compulsory at my school for the first 3 years. It's boring, but deceptively easy – I just guess everything and it still comes out right.

A piece of trivia: the original idea for Fire and Ice was conceived exactly a year ago, on Xmas Eve. There is actually nothing at all that was there in the original version! It got changed around a lot. And now, a year later, I have only one thing to say: Thank you to all my wonderful, wonderful reviewers!

I also wish to note that this is one of my least favourite chapters to date. **The beginning (between the two ~*~*~*~ symbols) is a flashback**, and as such is utterly fluffy, which I think I'm allergic to writing. Anyway, you lot wanted it, and therefore here it is.

~*~*~*~

The moonlight was soft, blessing the grey stones with a silvered kiss. There was a peace about the room, an almost reverential silence, as the shadows of the trees created a monochromatic stained glass effect on the floor.

Draco lay on his bed, the hangings drawn shut and preventing any sound from escaping, thanks to the charms he had put on them in first year. The deep malachite green surrounded the bed, the moonlight painting shadows and highlights where the material folded itself into waves.

Hermione was asleep, her chocolate hair tangling across the pillow in complex patterns. Her forehead rested against his shoulder, and she had one arm stretched across his chest, almost as if Draco was a giant teddy bear. 

'Goodnight.' he whispered. He struggled to hold back a smile, then gave in to it. It felt strange, almost unnatural, but at the same time completely right. He smiled often, of course: smiled at Hermione across the Great Hall at mealtimes, or smiled with laughter when he said something amusing, or the polite smile he reserved for teachers and adults. But he very rarely smiled for himself.

Unexpectedly, Hermione mumbled something into his shoulder, which sounded as though it may have been, 'Night.'

'You're awake?' Hermione didn't speak, but appeared to nod in a half-hearted way. The thought crossed Draco's mind that she was rather sweet when half-asleep. 'I'm sorry if I woke you.'

'You didn't. I was just dozing.'

Draco snorted. 'Hermione, you were snoring.'

Her eyes flew open. 'I don't snore!' she said, her voice equal measures of incredulity and surprise.

'Oh yes you do!' replied Draco gleefully, then frowned. 'Did I just say that? I sound like one of those pantymime things.'

'It's a pantomime.' Hermione corrected automatically. 'And I do not snore.'

'Yes you do. Worse than Crabbe.' It was true that, in the unlikely event of snoring becoming an Olympic sport, Crabbe would take the gold. 'You sound like an elephant with nasal congestion.' Draco added.

'I do not.'

'You do.' Draco said cheerfully. 'But don't worry, I still love you.'

Hermione smiled and made the traditional reply. 'I love you too.' She paused reflectively. 'Do I really snore?'

Draco nodded, a grin on his face that could be described as devilish.

'Oh… wait a minute! I know that grin! You're lying!'

'And you fell for it too!'

'Argh.' Hermione hit Draco's shoulder with her forehead. Whether this was intended as a rebuke or as a 'hitting-my-head-against-a-brick-wall' gesture, Draco didn't know. 'Sometimes I don't know why I put up with you.'

'Because you're madly in love with me as I'm so utterly perfect?'

'You were right up to 'me'.' Hermione sounded almost flirtatious, but added soberly, 'No one's perfect.'

'Not even you?'

'Not even me, no matter how many hundred percent marks I get.'

'I think you're perfect.' Draco said defensively. Hermione blushed.

There were a few moments of silence. It was not the uncomfortable kind of silence created by two people trying desperately to think of what to say, but the easy, familiar silence of two people who didn't need to say anything. Hermione closed her eyes and shifted slightly to find a more comfortable spot on Draco's shoulder.

Perfection… Just thinking the word brought back memories. How many times had he been told to be perfect? How many times had he been punished for doing the smallest thing wrong?

Draco hated his memories, with the honourable exception of the more recent ones. He would gladly have Memory Charmed them into oblivion, except… except for the fact that he wouldn't be the same person. You changed when you lost your memories, because your memories made you what you were. He didn't know what he would be like if he lost those memories, but he didn't want to try finding out.

Thinking about them brought back the anger, anger that had been locked away beneath layers of protective ice before. Remembering brought it back afresh, to burn through his thawed bloodstream, re-born vividly and carrying something almost like… pain.

He considered telling Hermione about it. There is something in everyone that is repulsed at the idea of sharing problems, that little voice that whispers, 'They'll think you're weak, that you're a coward.' In some people this is stronger than others, and in Draco's mind it was almost deafening. 

But he knew he could tell Hermione anything. Anything at all, in a way that almost scared him. Malfoys weren't supposed to have emotions, after all. The very idea of emotions was alien to him. But Hermione didn't judge or condemn or pity, she just understood. And besides, as she had told him herself, she liked to hear things about him. Liked the insight it gave…

'My father… he always tried to make me be perfect.' Sensing the beginning of a story by some emphatic link, Hermione nodded slightly, curling her arm further around him. Draco smiled slightly, eyes glazing as he sank into the memories. 

'I used to feel like some sort of performing animal. As though my only function was to do everything right, to do the thing that created the right impression. Everything I said, everything I did, right down to the tiniest detail, was judged and punished if it wasn't to my father's liking.'

He felt Hermione give him a sympathetic squeeze, and continued, staring into nothingness. 'He used to have formal dinners, two or three times a year. Whenever he felt one would be good for his connections, I suppose. They used to be huge, two or three hundred guests – mostly either supporters of Voldemort or wizarding celebrities who wanted some media attention. Ever since I was old enough to go, I was wandering among the guests, acting polite and trying to give the right impression, and he used a spell to spy on me. And if I did one thing wrong – and I always did, in his estimation – he'd punish me.

'Punish' was a way of avoiding saying 'torture'. Torture was a nasty word, far too melodramatic. Punish sounded more normal, less shocking. But they both knew what was meant by it.

Draco continued. 'The last one of his dinners I went to was the summer before last, just after the Triwizard Tournament. It was a big one; there were hundreds of Death Eaters – although you couldn't tell who was one and who wasn't unless you knew beforehand – lots of minor celebrities, old wizarding families, and so on. And this time, I did everything _perfectly_. I said the right things, I smiled in the right places, I was polite to the right people. I couldn't see any mistakes at all. And then afterwards, he called me into his study, and he…'

Draco trailed off. However much he was rebelling against those taboos that forced him to keep things like this shut inside, he couldn't bring himself to say the word. But Hermione knew what he meant, and raised her chocolate brown eyes to his. She looked concerned, and loving, and for one breathtaking moment, like an angel.

'I know.' she said simply. 'But… why?'

'He said I was too perfect. He said that perfection looked bad, like I thought I was superior to all of them. And I knew that whatever I did I couldn't win, because he'd just keep telling me it was wrong, he'd just keep changing the rules. I told him that, I told him he was just bending the rules to suit him. And he was angry. That was when he cast the Glacios on me…'

There was silence for a few seconds. Slowly the memory faded away, as if by telling it and speaking the words aloud, he had exorcised some inner demon. For an instant he had relived it all, the sickening realisation that no matter what he did, it would always be wrong and the sudden wave that had spread over him, not of cold, but of a mysterious not-warmth.

But the memories faded, and he was back in the present day, back in his room. He could keenly feel Time, as it passed, heartbeat-by-heartbeat, from future into past. Hermione's face was a queer mixture, as though her features could simply not decide what to be. There was concern, and sympathy, and something like horror, and a flicker of anger that grew until her eyes were burning.

'How could he do that?' she said bitterly. 'How could he… you hadn't done anything wrong!'

'I don't think he cared.' Draco pointed out.

'I swear, I'm going to learn the nastiest, most horrible Dark curses I can find and attack him with them, I swear.' Hermione sounded vehement, her normally warm, open, kind face screwed up in a loathing that was more than simple hate. But the hate was just, and the anger was for Draco, and it was beautiful too, in its own way.

'Miss Hermione Granger, golden girl of Hogwarts, abider by all rules, using Dark Curses?' Draco said, a smile on his lips. Hermione glanced upwards, meeting his eyes, and all the anger vanished.

'Oh, I suppose. But I'd _like_ to.'

There was an almost childlike fascination for Draco in watching the emotions flicker across her face, watching how quickly anger faded to happiness and back to hate, like some incredibly complex game. Everything he said, every word, inspired a change: a smile, a frown, a twitch as she fought to keep from laughing. And every time she smiled, every time she laughed, he was winning, because she was happy.

He planted a kiss on her forehead, prompting another of those winning smiles. 'Love you.' Hermione said, sinking her head deeper into his shoulder.

'Love you too.' Draco responded. It felt incredibly strange to say those words, but he said them anyway, because it was true, and it made Hermione happy.

There was a silence, a few seconds pause. Hermione was thinking; he could see her slightly abstracted gaze and a sudden lack of expression that meant she wasn't quite paying attention to this world. He let her think, waiting in silence for her to finish.

'Sometimes,' she said at last, 'I worry that you love me too much.'

Draco frowned. How could anyone love too much? Love was one of the rare things you could never have too much of, you could never run out of however much you gave. 'What do you mean?' he asked.

'I don't know exactly. It's like…' Hermione paused, searching for an analogy. 'You know when you read a book, and you just know what's going to happen. But when you tell someone and they ask you how you know, there's no evidence whatsoever to support your idea, but you still know that it's going to happen?'

'Hermione, if I didn't know you better, I'd say you were on drugs.' Draco raised his eyebrows in mock innocence.

Hermione frowned at him. 'Don't be stupid. It's… like an instinct, that's what I mean. Or maybe I'm just being paranoid. Sometimes I feel like you'd do anything for me. I'm not saying it's a bad thing,' she added hastily, seeing Draco's face, 'but it does make me worried sometimes.'

'Why does it worry you?'

'Because you're a boy. I know what boys are like. You'll end up doing something amazingly stupid, sooner or later.'

'I wouldn't.' Draco protested.

'I know.' Hermione said, and sighed a little. 'Just… be careful.'

~*~*~*~

It was impossible to sleep, and she should have known it. She lay on her bed, eyes wide open, watching the darkness. There was too much to think about, too much to take in, and she couldn't sleep. Thoughts flew around her mind, refusing to settle down. She couldn't sleep, not when every minute a new thought popped into her mind – what will I do if I can't get my memory back? What will I do if I _can _get my memory back? What if I get it back and I don't like what I remember? What if something really awful happened? What if? What if?

In spite of all these 'what-ifs', there was a strangely hazy feel to the recent events, as though they didn't really exist, or she was viewing them from somewhere completely outside her own self. Now that she had decided what to do, she felt no emotion about it at all. She ought to be upset, or worried, or nervous, or something – but all that was there was a kind of stillborn acceptance. Even the what-ifs were emotionless, born of nothing more than an errant curiosity.

So she lay in the darkness, wondering idly and unable to sleep, for what felt like an eternity until there was a soft tapping on the window. Her eyes flew open – strange, she didn't remember closing them – and she pulled aside a corner of the hangings to peer around the dormitory.

Tap, tap.

A snowy owl perched on the window ledge, and it took a few seconds for her sleep-starved mind to recognise it as Hedwig. But what was Harry doing writing to her this late at night?

She forced herself to the window, legs protesting that really, they'd rather be in bed. Upon opening the catch, she saw that Hedwig looked rather disgruntled. No surprise, really – Hedwig was growing older, and Hermione suspected that she'd much rather be in her roost by now. The same thing had happened with Crookshanks, who had been acting so lethargic over the summer that she'd been persuaded to leave him at home this term.

Giving Hedwig a gentle stroke – on her forehead, which she loved as long as you didn't stroke against the direction of the feathers – she noticed that she seemed to be carrying not one letter, but pages and pages of parchment. Puzzled, she untied them from Hedwig's leg. The topmost note was short; just two lines long, and in a script that some nagging instinct told her was Draco's.

_Harry and Ron owled me to let me know that you had decided to get your memory back. I thought these might help._

Absentmindedly, she gave Hedwig another stroke, her eyes fixed on that peculiar handwriting. 'Go on, Hedwig, get back to Harry.' she whispered, and the owl took off. Not bothering to close the window – it was too hot in here anyway – she took the piles of parchment back to her bed, in a kind of daze. What were they? 

She brushed a hand over the parchment, over the ink, which seemed to possess an electrical impulse, almost a sentience. It seemed so much more real than anything else around her, carrying an essence of Malfoy – no, _Draco_. Not the Draco she remembered, it still bore a part of him. The wording was concise, and formal sounding, but there was a kind of melancholy that she couldn't place.

Suddenly impatient, she grasped the knot, prised it apart, pulling away the string like a child on Christmas morning fights with ribbons. And then – and then, she put Draco's note to one side, revealing… a letter.

_Dearest Draco,_

_            I can't wait to see you at school; I've missed you so much! It feels like so much longer than a fortnight since I saw you last. I know I sound completely corny, but it really does feel like an eternity._

It went on, flowing down the page with happy, sweet-sounding jokes and teases. It looked so wrong to see her own handwriting, there on the page, and know that she had written it but to be unable, however hard she tried, to remember writing it. It was almost frightening, almost disturbing, to see the words on the page, proclaiming her endearments.

Suddenly afraid, she pushed the topmost one aside, revealing letter after letter, carefully stacked in a neat pile, in perfect chronological order. Letters stacked with laughter, with care, with love – to this boy she had hated.

She had believed it already, but now Truth came, sweeping out of the ink and rushing through her veins, dancing madly as thought after thought came to her, the implications of _loving Draco Malfoy_, this Slytherin, this sadist, this demon incarnate…

Except he wasn't, couldn't be, for why else were her words laid down so lovingly on the parchment? Her words, laid down by her hand and in her ink, traitorous words, proclaiming… proclaiming the truth, and she had to accept that, accept it or be driven crazy…

Suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, her eyes filled up with tears. She sobbed, muffling the sound in her blanket, crying for what she had forgotten, and for what she had come, finally, undeniably, to accept as Truth.

~*~

The next morning dawned like any other morning, crisp and pale with winter, the colours bleached from the landscape leaving only darkness and light. Harry and Ron hobbled down the stairs, shivering with cold and yawning, to find Hermione already awake and in the common room. She sat at a table, surrounded by books and concentrating hard on a large new-looking volume with flashy lettering which changed colour in a mysterious, smoky sequence.

'Memory Charms: Their history, usage and cures.' Ron read off the cover. 'What does it say?'

Hermione didn't move her eyes from the page, giving her answer automatically. 'Memory Charms at their most basic are used to make a person forget very recent events. However, advanced Memory Charms can be used to remove any event or chain of events from a person's memory. Memory Charms are incredibly complex at this stage and can often go wrong, leaving the charmed person with no memories at all.'

Neither of the boys really understood this, but they nodded all the same, sitting down on either side of their friend. Hermione's face was set with determination, just as if this was any normal school project. They had worried about her last night, worried that she might be taking this badly, but she seemed fine.

'Does it mention anything about cures?' Harry probed, causing Hermione to look up from her book with a regretful sigh.

'Memory Charms don't have nice neat cures. It isn't that simple. The only cure is… well, waiting. Memories can return with time, especially if they're very big memories… they often come back as dreams, or events in real life can spark one off.'

'Events in real life?' said Ron. 'Only, we were talking last night, and we reckon the best way to remember things is if you… well… spend time with Draco. Talk to him and stuff.'

Hermione looked up, seeming startled at the very idea. 'Spend time with…?' Then her face fell, dejectedly, as she seemed to recall what was going on. 'Oh, yeah, I love him, don't I?', she said, her voice suddenly quiet, 'I'm sorry, you just have no idea how weird all this is… I mean, the last thing I remember, you hated Draco, and now you're encouraging me to spend time with him, and it's … well, it's _strange_.'

'You don't have to do this, you know.' Harry told her. 'You don't have to get your memory back, if you don't want to…'

'No!' Hermione interrupted. 'I have to do this, I can't stand thinking there's something I've forgotten, even if it is about loving… _him_. I hate thinking that my memory was stolen. I'm going to get it back if it kills me.'

Harry and Ron nodded, wondering what had made Hermione so vociferously determined to regain her memory. She has paused, considering.

'It might actually be a good idea to talk to him. I'll have to arrange it.' This said, she went back to her book, reading with purpose and resolve.

~*~

And there it is! The Xmas chapter, with fluff, drama, and as a special present to you all, the reason why the Glacios curse was cast. Future chapters contain house elves, Harry and Ron playing matchmaker, and plans that contain a complete lack of cunning. REVIEW! Go on, it's Christmas… 

(singing) I just want you to review, More than you could ever know, Make my wish come true! All I want for Christmas is reviews…

Merry Christmas!


	8. Fearing the Answers

**Fearing the Answers**

**Disclaimer: **J.K. Rowling owns the characters, places and items used in this story. I own the plot

**A/N: Happy New Year!**

Thanks for 336 reviews goes to: Wind Elf, KeeperOfTheMoon, ~* paper star *~, Saotoshi Hatsuma, asd, AideeEight, StarJade, JoeBob1379, MaliShka, DiLLiRgA, nycgrl, Katrina, WormmonABC, Sanaria, superdork, lunarmoon, willowfairy, mya14, Emily, Mandemi, angelumpcioous, firey fairy, hyper_shark, Sesui Megami, Queen Li, Candycane, Cassie, Italia12, animegirl-mika, Elluxion (x5), saj aneri, Romantic Fool, Lauren, Angal: da Newsies fan, Xtreme Nuisance, MoonDancerCat, heavengurl899, dragon eyes, Purple People Eater, kickedoutofthegoblet, Akira Gown, lexi wood, Madiszon, draconas, onlyslightlyangry, and kei-chan! 

It's been a hectic week, but I still managed to get my chapter finished! *cheers*

My responses to questions: I know that Hermione was a lot meaner towards Draco at the beginning of this than she was at the beginning of Fire and Ice. However, she probably would be, considering that she was locked in a dungeon with him and pretty afraid… it's a natural reaction to snap at people, even those close to you, when you're worried or scared. 

Someone else pointed out that the used Portkeys were thrown into a bin at the Quidditch World Cup, and asked if they were only used once. I think that at least some Portkeys can be used more than once, as the Triwizard Cup took Harry both to the graveyard and back again.

The first part of the last chapter was a flashback, which seems to have confused some people even though I stated very clearly in bold text in my A/N that it was a flashback. Does no one read these things?

Yes, I do send out e-mails when I update, although you can also simply remember that I update every Wednesday. If anyone wants to be e-mailed when I update, just ask me to do so in your review.

Fire and Ice is still in the same place as always. It is only on this account at fanfiction.net, and the only person with permission to use the Glacios is JAMTillDawn, although I will probably give permission to anyone who asks. If you see anyone else using the curse or claiming the story as their own, please tell me.

And now onto the chapter.

~*~

However much she appeared to be determined, deep down Hermione felt terrified. She'd never been good with boys in a romantic sense. She was fine around Harry and Ron, but they were her friends. She'd gone with Viktor to the ball in fourth year, but even that had been on friendly basis. She had suffered through the clumsy kisses on the cheek and hastily whispered 'sweet nothings' simply for the sake of proving to everyone she was more than a bookworm. Of course, Viktor had been charming in his way, but there hadn't been any… _passion_, any real love for each other.

She tried to recall what she knew about him, but all she remembered were more recent things – in the dungeon, escaping, in Dumbledore's office. But the more she thought about Draco, the more she realised that he did love her. He had always set his face into a cold and impassive mask, but there had been something in his eyes that at the time she had though to be faked. A little love, a little need, a little terror and fear and bewilderment and just that tiny, tiny touch of some questioning thing she couldn't name, but recognised instinctively. That tiny little voice inside us all which asks the eternal, unanswerable question – _'Why?'_

She'd been asking the same question a lot recently. Why me? Why him? Nothing made sense anymore. Harry and Ron had arranged for her to meet Draco at the lake, three o'clock today. It was only noon, and the clock refused to stop moving. It ticked relentlessly, its regular pace managing to be terrifyingly fast and excruciatingly slow. She wanted to get this over with, but didn't want it to happen at all. 

Noon. One minute past. Two minutes past. Three minutes past. Four minutes past – couldn't time go any faster? Five minutes past, and only two hours and fifty-five minutes to go, it wasn't long enough, she couldn't possibly do this, what on earth was she supposed to say, and what if she didn't get her memory back and had to spend the rest of her life like this, meeting Draco every weekend and being utterly terrified because she didn't remember _anything_ and…

There was a horrible crash, and the minute hand of the clock failed to tick across to six minutes past as it should have done, because Hermione had flung the clock against the nearest wall and it now lay in forlorn pieces on the carpet.

She sighed, leaning forward over the table and burying her head in her hands. There were some things mankind were not meant to deal with outside the realms of fantasy and stories. This was clearly one of them. She didn't normally lose her temper so easily.

She needed a hot drink, she decided, and something with what Lavender and Parvati's magazines would term 'a sinful amount of chocolate'.  Pushing herself upright, she made her way to the kitchens.

~*~

The kitchens were their usual bustle of activity. Elves ran to and fro like ants, preparing what seemed like enough food to support a small continent. As she stepped through the entrance, she was hit full in the face by the promising smell of sausages cooking. They looked perfect, tender and golden brown, sizzling appetisingly. It made her feel extremely hungry.

'Miss Hermione! Miss Hermione!' squeaked a small voice, and Hermione was hit full on by what felt like a rather large Bludger. Looking down, she realised it was Ditty, who had her arms thrown around Hermione's legs in what was presumably a hug.

Hermione picked the little elf up and gave her a proper hug, feeling rather guilty. She had forgotten all about the little elf. She'd meant to ask Dumbledore to give her a job, preferably with holidays and decent pay. But with the whole Draco thing… Ditty had completely slipped her mind.

It turned out not to matter though, because Ditty proudly told her, 'Master Dumbledore has given Ditty a job, Miss Hermione! Ditty is working in the kitchens and cleaning the school with the other elves!'

'That's wonderful, Ditty.' Hermione told her, smiling. She put the little elf down on the floor carefully. 'Are you getting paid?'

Ditty shook her head vigorously. 'House elves is not supposed to be paid, Miss Hermione. Ditty was offered pay, and days off, but Ditty said no.'

'I thought you wanted to be free?'

'Ditty wanted to be working for someone other than the Malfoys, miss. And Ditty could not have found a better new master than Master Dumbledore! Ditty respects Master Dumbledore very much, Miss Hermione. And Ditty has made lots of new friends!' she added before Hermione could say anything. 

'Ditty is friends with Iggy, and Lily, and Corry, and Nebby, and Dobby, and Tilly, and Venny…'

'Did you just say you were friends with Dobby?' Hermione asked.

The little elf nodded vigorously. 'Yes, yes, Dobby is one of Ditty's best new friends! Dobby was the house elf for the Malfoys before Ditty, and Dobby has told Ditty all about how he was freed too!'

Ditty grabbed Hermione's hand and tugged her through the kitchens, past mountains of bread, steaming chocolate puddings and some extremely mouth-watering chicken. The elves gave her curious glances, but went back to their work when they saw she didn't have any SPEW badges.

'Dobby! Dobby! Miss Hermione has come to visit!' Ditty shouted, stopping in front of an extremely familiar elf. He was wearing the most recent Weasley Christmas jumper, in maroon as usual, along with some children's shorts that came down past his knees. Beneath this was the usual pair of mismatched socks, today in clashing sky-blue and candyfloss-pink.

'Miss Hermione!' Dobby said, eyes opening as wide as saucers. 'It is so good to see you again!'

'Good to see you too.' Hermione said, kneeling down so that she was on eye level with the elves. 'How have you been?'

'Dobby has been very well, and Winky is good too!' Winky had finally started to accept her new position last summer, although it still wasn't quite safe to mention Crouch in front of her unless you had a box of tissues ready.

'Dobby has been showing Ditty around the kitchens and introducing the other elves.' Ditty continued. 'Over there, that is Corry, she is one of Ditty's roommates, and she is very kind to Ditty. And there is Iggy,' she said, pointing to an old looking elf with white hair who was washing dishes. 'He is very old and Master Dumbledore says he isn't supposed to do work, but he likes to help when he can. He speaks lots of languages, Mermish and Trollish and lots of others!'

Hermione spent at least half an hour in the kitchens, being introduced to more elves than she thought possible by the over-excited Dobby and Ditty. She finally saw Winky, who was carefully chopping carrots.

'Hello, Winky.' Hermione said with a warm smile. Winky nodded and smiled back. 'How are you?'

'Winky is fine, Miss Hermione.' replied the little elf. She seemed not so much anti-social as simply tired, someone who had nothing to say.

'That's good.' Hermione felt a sudden wave of sympathy, and the urge to pull Winky into a hug, but resisted it. 'Dobby and Ditty have just been showing me around the kitchen.'

Winky jerked upright at this, looking round until her eyes settled on the two elves, who were currently talking between themselves and paying no attention to anything else. Hermione was surprised to see her glare venomously at Ditty.

'Winky is not approving of Ditty, Miss Hermione.' Winky said, whispering in Hermione's ear. 'Dobby is spending far too much time with her, he has hardly spoken to Winky since she arrived.'

'Well, they must have a lot in common.' Hermione tried to console the elf, who was glaring angrily at Ditty. 'They probably just want to talk. I'm sure he'll talk to you too…'

Winky shook her head. 'Winky thinks that Ditty is stealing Winky's friend, Miss Hermione. Dobby is a good friend to Winky, but now he is spending all his time with Ditty… What if he has no time for Winky?'

The elf didn't seem angry or jealous, more… worried. Hermione patted her shoulder. 'Don't worry, Winky, I'm sure he won't ignore you…'

She was cut off mid-sentence by Ditty tugging on her sleeve. 'Miss Hermione, it is almost time for your lunch!'

Hermione glanced at her watch. It was indeed quarter to one.

'Does Miss Hermione want anything to take with her?' asked Dobby politely. Hermione's thought strayed longingly to the chocolate puddings she had come down for, but if lunch was so soon there was little point. 'No thanks, Dobby, I'll wait until lunch.'

After promising to tell Harry and Ron that Dobby was well, she left the kitchens, realising she was an entire hour closer to the dreaded three o'clock meeting.

~*~

Time passed all too quickly. At five to three, she left the common room grudgingly, her stomach churning. Draco. What was she going to say? She knew nothing about him, had no idea where to start… she didn't even know what he was like. Was he still given to the occasional cruel remark? Was he completely different? It was like going on a blind date, only worse, because he loved her already and she remembered nothing but hating him.

She pulled her winter cloak tighter about her as she made her way through the corridors. It was charmed to keep the wearer warm in any weather, but more than that, she felt it as a kind of shield. It was a barrier between herself and the world, and while it offered little protection against anything but weather, it somehow made her feel safer.

She turned the corner into the entrance hall, and saw… him. His pale hair and skin contrasted boldly with his black cloak, giving an extremely monochromatic impression. He was leaning against the wall, head bowed in a way she hadn't seen before, looking absently at the floor.

She was paralysed for a moment. What was she thinking? This was Malfoy, for goodness's sake. Why wasn't she just staying back where it was safe and warm and forgetting everything that had ever happened? 

Because… because she didn't want to forget things. She relied on her memory, felt safe when she knew she could answer any question. And now Draco was a void, an empty space. There was a gap in her knowledge, and she needed to fill it. 

And then, as she stepped hesitantly towards him, there was another reason. He looked strange, even to that instinctive part of her that knew him. He seemed deflated, almost lost. The word 'self-pitying' crept into her mind, but she dismissed it. He was somehow beyond self-pity and into a state of misery, almost desolation, which tugged at her heartstrings. She wondered how she knew this from nothing more than seeing him, but her instinctive understanding wasn't telling anything.

And then he looked up and saw her.

His expression didn't flicker, but his eyes met hers, and she almost stopped dead in her tracks. His pale eyes were empty but not blank, and seemed almost to ache. She was staring into the negative version of a black hole, the grey of a winter sky instead of midnight's ebony. His eyes sucked her in, a chasm opening before her. A phrase flickered through her mind. _The eyes are the window of the soul_. Was this what Draco felt? Not empty, but… as though something was missing?

Their eyes had met for only a second, but in that instant she felt like the entire world had flipped upside down.

She stopped before him, and for a second they faced each other, neither knowing what to say. Eventually Draco spoke, his voice carefully emotionless.

'Shall we go?'

Hermione nodded, and followed him out into the pale winter. The world was bleached and pale, reduced to simplest monochromes of colour. Deep brown trees, ice white sky, nondescript brown dirt. Frost cracked under her feet.

She walked beside Draco, wondering what to say. There were so many things to ask that the air was thick with the weight of things unsaid. She could feel them, pressing down on her, trying to move her lungs and her larynx and her mouth and come out as sound. But there was never a right way to ask. She spent countless minutes trying to order a simple sentence, but just as soon as she had it perfect, she glanced at him and it vanished. 

He seemed not to know what to say either. He was silent, but she could feel that he wanted to speak. What would he ask her, she wondered. What did he feel? Was he angry, or upset, or… she didn't know. She didn't know anything. And here was Draco, who knew all the answers to her questions, and she was too afraid to ask.

Afraid of what? she asked herself. What is there to be afraid of?

The answers.

She was afraid of the answers.

Minutes passed, and the pair walked silently all the way around the lake, all the way back up to the school, without speaking, and parted in the Entrance Hall, without even knowing how to phrase their goodbyes.

~*~

'They don't seem to be talking.' Ron was kneeling on the window ledge of the Gryffindor common room, peering through the Omnioculars Harry had bought him at the Quidditch World Cup. He twiddled a button, zooming in closer on Draco and Hermione. 

'They aren't?' Harry asked. Frowning, he closed his Divination textbook, through which he had been browsing for inventive misfortunes. 'Let me have a look.'

Ron handed him the Omnioculars, which he pressed against his glasses. The Omnioculars brought the two human-shaped dots into closer perspective. He focused on their faces; Hermione looked nervous and worried, and her eyes kept flickering from side to side. Draco's face was blank, but then when wasn't it?

'They aren't talking.' Harry affirmed. 'What's wrong?'

Ron shrugged. 'I haven't a clue.'

'Excuse me…' A thin voice interrupted the conversation, making both boys jump. A small house elf was standing just inside the portrait hole, regarding them with wide blue eyes. 'Are they… _really_ not talking?'

Harry shook his head. 'Who are you? And why are you here?' House elves normally stayed out of the way in daytime, unseen by anyone. For one to appear in the Gryffindor common room was rare to say the least.

'I know who you are!' Ron exclaimed suddenly. 'You're that house elf Hermione brought back from the Malfoys' place! What was your name… Dilly?'

'Ditty, sir.' the elf replied. 'Ditty came because she wanted to know how Miss Hermione was doing. Is she really not talking to him?'

Harry shook his head, and Ditty's expression drooped. 'We're trying to figure out why though.' he added, trying to cheer her up. 'Do you have any idea?'

'Maybe she just doesn't trust him?' the elf suggested. 'Ditty wants them to get back together…' She sniffed a little, hanging her head and looking miserable.

'So do we.' Ron reassured her. Harry slid off the windowsill and paced the floor. 

            'Alright,' he said, 'we need something to get them together. Some sort of a… a catalyst.'

            'A what?' asked Ron, puzzled.

            'We were learning about it in Potions just last week, Ron. Hermione would have a heart attack if she heard you say that.' Harry said with a smile. 'Catalysts are things that make something happen but don't get affected themselves. Like when we used that dragon scale in making the Lassitude Potion. We added it to the mixture and it made the belladonna leaves combine with the daisy petals, remember?'

            'No.'

            Harry sighed. 'I know I'm going to sound like Hermione here, but do you _ever_ listen in class?'

            Ron was saved the embarrassment of answering that question by Ditty, who spoke unexpectedly. 'Ditty thinks… Ditty thinks she might have a plan.'

            The two boys turned their eyes to her. 'A plan? Tell us.' said Harry curiously.

            'Well…' the elf began, 'in the past, he has saved her life, hasn't he? If he was to save her life _again_, she would trust him and wouldn't feel so nervous around him.'

            The two boys nodded slowly. It was how they had come to be friends with Hermione, after all: saving someone's life was an act that naturally inspired trust.

            'But we couldn't do that. We can't just put Hermione in danger.' Ron pointed out.

The elf beamed. 'Ditty has an idea. Ditty knows an elf called Iggy who is very good with languages…'

~*~

**A/N: **You didn't really think I was going to tell you what the plan was did you? That will wait for next time…

REVIEW!!!


	9. Underwater Miracles

Underwater Miracle

**Disclaimer:** All characters and places in this story belong to J.K.Rowling, however the plot is mine. Does that satisfy you Mr. Lawyer-person?

**A/N:** Thanks for 374 reviews go to: Jockaroo, animegirl-mika, KeeperOfTheMoon, asd,  Queen Li, draconas, Akira Gown, MysticalStormz, MoonDancerCat, JoeBob1379, Katrina, Yousei Kaijou, hyper_shark, The Dragon Guardian Of The Sea, Ell, Dragon of all that is good and chocolatey, Italia12, MaliShka, Sao, heavengurl899, kei-chan, WormmonABC, Eleanor, JAMtilldawn (x3), willowfairy, StarJade, ~* paper star *~ Hp1fan, Angel: da Newsies fan, mya14, Dragonsbane, JoyNspirit, Red Magic Marker, mutsumi, firey fairy, Purple People Eater, StarJade and Jessica!

Sorry this is a day late – fanfiction.net was down yesterday *grumbles* Major landmark – the entire fanfic of Darkness and Light has just crossed the 50 page mark!

VERY IMPORTANT – The wonderful Immensity has been translating Fire and Ice into Russian! Thank you tons for all your hard work, Immensity – I'm really honoured. Any Russian speakers should go to www.potter.ru to see the results of her hard work!

Responses to questions: It's not going to end when they get together, unless my characters start rebelling on me… There's still lots of plot left to go, and the end is nowhere in sight! I know the fluff is a bit unfluffy, but fluff is really really hard for me. *sniffs* Must get a boyfriend. This is a work in process, meaning that I haven't written it all yet and therefore cannot update more than once a week. Unless someone lends me a time machine… 

Thanks to everyone who pointed out the little mistake with timing! *gives cookies to all of them* I need people to point out mistakes like that. Only the other day someone pointed out an error in Chapter 2 of Fire and Ice… I have no idea why no one noticed before!

Without further ramblings, here's onto the story. This chapter: Ditty's dangerous plan, a giant squid who's just a romantic at heart, and something you've all been waiting for…

~*~

The next day was colder than the one before. The wind wailed around the towers of Hogwarts, breathing it's ice-laden breath across the landscape. However, once again at three o'clock, Draco met with Hermione to walk in silence around the lake. Trudging across thin layers of ice, feeling the earth slip under their feet, they made their speechless circuit. A pointless, everlasting circle.

It wasn't that they had nothing to say. They had plenty of things to ask, so many things they both wanted to find out. But they were not, Draco realised, the kind of questions you could ask a stranger. And that's what Hermione was now: a stranger. He simply didn't know her anymore. The Hermione he knew was the one who loved him back.

Draco tried not to think about her, but it was hard when she was walking with him, just a pace or two behind. It was hard to listen to anything other than her footsteps, her breathing. How could he ever forget her?

Concentrate on other things, he told himself. The wind blew icy against him, but he didn't even shiver. After all, he was more than used to cold, and in comparison this weather was like a frozen blessing. It raged against his face, stealing the warmth from his skin. He let his hand dangle in the cold, leaving it there until it burnt blue. He was used to that kind of pain. It was familiar, almost reassuring. The pain of the body was easily cured: it was the heart whose disease could linger for a lifetime.

They had almost reached their starting point, and he was hoping that after this he could avoid her for the rest of the day at least. It was too painful to be near her. Tomorrow was Monday, and he would be back in class where he could pretend, maybe, that none of this had happened.

And that was when a muffled shout came from behind him. He whirled in time to see Hermione, his Hermione, be whisked off her feet and pulled into the air by a dripping purple tentacle.

~*~

'It's happening!' shouted Harry. 

Up in the abandoned Gryffindor common room, Harry and Ron were kneeling on the window ledge, spying through the Omnioculars. Ditty and Iggy, who had been delighting over this new game of 'chess' the boys had introduced them to, looked up.

'Are you sure?' Ditty squeaked.

'Of course we're sure.' Ron replied without turning from the glass. 'Look at the size of that tentacle!'

Ditty helped the aging Iggy over to the window. Earlier that morning, Iggy had visited the lake with a wheelbarrow full of food, to have a little conversation with the squid. Their plan was simple: the squid would pretend to attack Hermione, Draco would rescue her, and she'd start to trust him, or at least they hoped she would. As it turned out, the squid was female and quite a romantic at heart, and had agreed to help at once.

Harry passed his Omnioculars to Iggy, wincing as the squid flailed the tentacle holding Hermione into the water. 'I hope she's alright…'

~*~

For an instant, Draco stared at the giant tentacle in something akin to shock. Then adrenalin kicked in, and without thinking he ran to the lake edge, kicking off his shoes as he went and prising at the clasp on his cloak. 

'Hermione!' he shouted, as the squid brought the tentacle holding her down, slicing the air in half, to smash against the water. To his relief, she appeared again almost immediately, coughing and spluttering but unharmed.

Draco pulled the wand out of his cloak pocket, thankful he had brought it. There was no way he could attack the squid from this far away though. It would risk hitting Hermione. He tugged at the clasp on his cloak, knowing that if he tried to swim with it on it would drag him down to a watery grave but impatient to rescue her. 

'Hermione, I'm coming!' he shouted out, finally losing his temper with the clasp and yanking on it with every ounce of strength he possessed. The fabric on one side tore, and a good tug was enough to get it off.

He threw himself into the water, gasping for a second at the Glacios-like temperatures. He swam as fast as he could, clinging to his wand and hoping he didn't lose it. Above him, he heard a thin and distant scream, growing louder and louder as the great fleshy tentacle descended. He glanced up, saw Hermione in the creature's grasp, completely sandwiched in the tentacle with only her head visible. Then it hit the water, sending a tidal wave splashing over his head.

Thinking fast, he dived under the water, peering through the gloom. He saw the tentacle, and Hermione on the end. He didn't have a plan. The only thought that was wedged firmly in his mind was the impulse to get to Hermione. 

He swam as hard as he could through the dim water, yet it still took what seemed like centuries to reach her. As the squid brought its tentacle up to raise her into the sky yet again, he grabbed on to the slimy flesh, clung to it for all he was worth.

Then they broke the surface, gasping in air and coughing out water.

'Are you alright?' he asked as soon as he could breathe. He was clinging onto the tentacle, directly facing Hermione, although this was more from luck than design.

'Draco… you came to save me…' she said. Her face was pale, her eyes widened. He hoped she wasn't going into shock.

'Of course I bloody well came to save you.' he replied. 'Are you hurt?'

She seemed to pull herself together. 'I'm fine. Cold and wet, but fine. What are you going to do?'

'Erm…' Draco paused, looking as sheepish as it was possible for a Malfoy to look. 'I hadn't really got to that part yet. I have my wand though.' It occurred to him that very few spells would work on a creature this size, and he inwardly cursed his rashness.

'Oh. Well I have a suggestion.' Hermione said, as the squid lifted them ever higher.

'What?'

The squid paused in its upwards trajectory. 

'Hold on. Tight.'

And then they were rushing, the wind whipping at soaking wet clothes, and Hermione was screaming. They tore through the air, Draco clinging on for dear life.

And then they hit the water.

Bright winter sunlight was replaced by the dull, distilled underwater glow, screams replaced by heavy silence. The squid tugged them this way and that, and Draco could do nothing but look at Hermione and try to tell her with his eyes it would be alright. He would be here.

There was a horrible moment when Draco thought the squid wasn't going to let her go. That they would both die down here, lungs burning for air. He didn't know how long Hermione could hold her breath…

And then, miraculously, the squid released them, sliding away into the shadowy depths. He grasped for her hand, kicking upwards for the surface, up and up towards the light, kicking and hoping for that elusive fresh air…

Draco's head broke the water, and he gasped in the air. Hermione's head broke the surface a second later, and she began coughing so hard she could barely take a breath. It was over. They were safe.

But then something dragged Hermione down, pulling her hand out of his, and he looked into the water to see her panicked and frightened face looking back up at him, hair struggling and billowing around her face like a fearful aura. He didn't have time to think: he simply took the biggest gasp of air he could and dived after her.

~*~

Up in the Gryffindor common room, tension was growing. The four plotters watched with a mixture of eagerness and tension. They watched as the squid flailed Hermione around, feeling quite glad that the creature had no intention of hurting her. They saw Draco dive into the waters, grasp onto the squid's tentacle with Hermione and be raised high into the air. They watched the surface in nervous anticipation as the two figures swam up to the surface, wondering what would happen now the danger was over…

'Something's wrong.' Harry said suddenly. And indeed, something was. The familiar head of the soaking Slytherin had appeared above water, and then Hermione's, but less than a second later she had vanished back under the surface.

Ron froze. 'Harry,' he asked, paling, 'is there anything else in that lake?'

Harry thought back to fourth year, to the second task of the Triwizard Tournament. His eyes widened.

'Grindylows.'

~*~ 

Draco kicked his way through the eerie darkness. He could almost see the bottom of the lake: fortunately they were close to the shore, and the water wasn't too deep. A forest of weed stretched away on all sided of him, but nowhere could he see Hermione.

He turned, thrashing through the water. His lungs were already burning, and he could feel his heart thumping, trying to send the last remnants of oxygen around a body that cried out for more. He span, turning this way and that through the liquid, peering through the dim and murky light for any sign of movement…

And there! A hand caught his attention, vanished. Then Hermione half-struggled her way out of a bed of weeds, kicking and twisting. Clinging to her was a horde of Grindylows, malicious smirks on their horned faces, dragging her back as though it were all a marvellous game. He kicked himself closer, pointing his wand at the water demons.

'Beluanocte!' he shouted. The spell didn't make a sound, and a large bubble of his precious air vanished upwards. But an inky black stream poured out of his wand, forming itself into a ghastly face with rather more fangs than were absolutely necessary. It was admittedly a Dark spell, but right now he didn't care.

The translucent creature flew at the Grindylows, making hissing noises that were something other than sound, chasing the creatures away from Hermione and into the murky cobalt distance. With lungs screaming for air and the edges of his vision wavering, he kicked over to Hermione, grasping her by the shoulders. Her eyes were open but unseeing, and she floated limply in the water, her hair mingling with the weed.

Fear rising within him, he grabbed her around the waist and swam for the surface, knowing this was a race against time. The light was tantalisingly close, seeming to shimmer just above him, but every kick was slower as his entire body cried out in protest for oxygen. Hermione was dead weight, pulling him down, until he felt as though he wasn't moving at all, just kicking fruitlessly and moving nowhere…

Death lurked beneath him, Life above, and he was caught in-between. He strained, trying desperately to reach the surface, reach the air. He wouldn't let the water claim them. He wouldn't let them be doomed forever to a watery grave, couldn't let Hermione die… Darkness closed in, reaching an icy hand towards him to kill them both…

And then he broke the surface, gasping and spluttering the blessedly sweet air. He gave Hermione one last tug, holding her face above water, checking desperately for her breathing, feeling with frozen fingers for a pulse…

There was none.

For a second his own heartbeat stopped. No. This couldn't happen, she couldn't die… she couldn't! Hermione… He raised his wand, amazed to find he was still clutching it in a death grip and hadn't lost it underwater. Gently, he pressed the tip to her throat.

'Vivere.' he whispered, watching a silver spark flicker for a second across her skin. Draco pressed two fingers to her throat, feeling for a pulse. There was nothing. 'Vivere.' he muttered again, his voice urgent with a flicker of fear. He trod water; not feeling the cold, not feeling anything but the rush of his bloodstream, a roar composed of a million tiny voices crying out against her death…

And then a movement under his fingers as the sluggish and stilled blood moved. And then another, and another, and another, and her chest rose to breathe in the oxygen, and she was _alive_.

The moment he realised this he felt a sudden burst of energy pour through him. Most other people would have classed it as pain, but to Draco it was merely a rather severe tingling. It flooded through him like fiery sunlight made liquid, a river of something like celebration, something like joy. For an instant his arm where it clung desperately to Hermione glowed. His nerve ends vibrated with its power.

And then the world suddenly seemed to flip, and he suddenly realised he was in the middle of a freezing lake in winter, feet pedalling the water automatically to keep them afloat, bobbing up and down slightly. His fingers were still pressed to Hermione's neck, feeling the steady pulse. Her skin was pale with cold, blue-tinged.

Draco kicked out for the shore, going slowly with muscles that protested against every movement. He swam, clinging to Hermione, until the shore came up to meet him and he pulled himself upright onto legs that didn't want to obey him. The cold breeze whipped him cruelly, sinking into his soaking clothes. He didn't shiver.

Hermione lay as if dead on the ground: he had to watch her chest rise and fall a few times to convince himself she was actually breathing. Draco picked up his cloak, glad it was dry, and carefully placed it over Hermione's inert form. He felt strangely empty, as though even his emotions had been through too much exercise with too little oxygen, and refused to work properly. 

He glanced up at the castle, wiping some pale and wet hair from his eyes. Hermione probably ought to see Madame Pomfrey, he realised. And what about the cold? She could catch something…

Kneeling by her side, he pulled out his wand. It would be easiest to get to the school if she were awake… 'Enervate' he muttered, and Hermione's snow-white eyelids slowly flickered open, revealing chocolate brown orbs. Just looking at her eyes, he realised, made him feel warmer.

Hermione blinked, seeming to bring Draco into focus. 'Draco?' she asked, her voice a whisper.

'It's me. Are you alright?' 

'I'm fine, I…' Her face screwed up in immense concentration. 'What happened? We were walking and the squid… you saved me.' She finished on a note of something like surprise. Her tone hurt like a glass splinter piercing the skin, and Draco's mind began automatically to flick through witty ripostes.

'Did you imagine I'd watch as you drowned?' he asked, a slight drawl in his voice but no malice. He could never feel malicious towards her, after all. 'Sitting on the sidelines, cheering on the Giant Squid, waving a little flag, perhaps?'

Hermione gave him a look that was a mixture of irritation and sympathy. 'No, of course not. It's just… well, I'm not exactly used to you being my knight in shining armour, so to speak.'

Draco's eyes alighted on the nearest tree. He didn't look at her: eye contact would just have been uncomfortable. 'I wouldn't expect you to.' he said finally. 'Not now: not yet.'

There was a moment's pause. The wind picked up, making dripping hair slap against icy skin. It seemed to blow away the mention of anything romantic: as long as it wasn't spoken, they could pretend it didn't matter. Hermione shivered, drawing Draco's attention.

'We should get back to the school.' he said, standing up. Hermione scrambled to her feet, holding the cloak around her.

They walked in silence for a little way. Finally Hermione spoke, but as she did so her teeth were chattering.

'What exactly happened?' she asked. 'Everything's confused… We were walking… and the squid caught me, and then you tried to rescue me, but when it let us go… Something was pulling me back down.'

'Grindylows.' Draco remarked helpfully.

'That's right, I remember now. They were trying to drown me.' Hermione's voice didn't change: it sounded as though she were talking about a dream, or something vague and formless dredged up from her subconcious.

'But then… there was something about your father, I remember that.'

His father? Draco's father had been there? Draco suddenly experienced a rather bizarre mental image of Lucius sitting regally amongst a bed of weeds. He shook it out of his head impatiently.

'My father wasn't there, Hermione.'

'He was! There was this little stone room, and lots of noise, and he… he tortured you, I think, and then he tried to kill me but you jumped in front of me and then Ron Stupefied him.' Hermione frowned. 'No, wait… that doesn't make sense though.' She sighed. 'Maybe I'm going mad. Maybe it was a dream, or a hallucination, or…'

She paused, because Draco had stopped dead, staring at her with a light in his eyes and the first smile to light up his face in days.

'Not a dream. Not a hallucination. A… _memory_.'

~*~

*stuffs fingers in ears to drown out screams of fans* Yes – Hermione got a memory back! Although of course not all of them yet… Just the one. For anyone who was confused, no, Lucius wasn't there. When she was, well, _dead_, Hermione had a flashback to the attack on Hogwarts and got confused between what happened for a bit. However, I have a feeling we haven't seen the last of Lucius yet… *cough*

Again, I peppered things with Latin: 'Beluanocte' is from the words 'belua', a monster, and 'nocte', meaning from the night. 'Vivere' simply means 'to live'.

Hmm – I wonder that that energy-thingy was??? Was it anything important? What do you think?

Well, I hope you enjoyed that chapter. You know what I'd enjoy? Reviews!!! (I also put up some original pieces and rather bed poetry which you could look at if you are bored…)


	10. Knowing Danger

Knowing Danger  
  
Disclaimer: Only the plot is mine. Latin belongs to the Ancient Romans, all Harry Potter things belong to JK.  
  
A/N: Thanks for 430 reviews goes to: Queen Li, asd, willowfairy, Zubie (x2), KAOS, plastic, The Dragon Guardian Of The Sea, Sao, dracoNmione, KeeperOfTheMoon, Amanda, Dark_Devil, MaliShka, Cassie, Hp1fan, lexi wood, Katrina Littlebird, Red Magic Marker, Sanaria, MysticalStormz, Yousei Kaijou, firey fairy, angkat14, hyper_shark, mya14, ~* paper star *~, Sarah, MoonDancerCat, WormmonABC, JoeBob1379, draconas, Some one, Lucy, Akida Lupin, mutsumi, JAMtilldawn, Akira Gown, JoyNspirit, Jessica, StarJade, Angel: da Newsies fan, Rebecca, kei-chan, silvermoon, Cat, Purple People Eater, Dragonsbane, danapotter, Anon, A little princess, aliveforever83(x2), bookworm12, Crystal princess.  
  
Questions: Someone pointed out that in the books you couldn't bring people back to life when they were dead. However, even Muggles can revive people who have been clinically dead for four minutes without oxygen, according to my mother who's a midwife. And at cold temperatures, such as there were in the lake, people can even be brought back to life after well over half an hour of being dead. Hermione, in my estimation, was probably 'dead' for a minute or two at most. Think of the 'Vivere' charm as the wizard version of CPR (Incidentally, according to my mother's latest CPR course the best way to remember how to do CPR is the tune of 'Nellie the Elephant'. You know the one - 'Nellie the elephant packed her trunk, and said goodbye to the circus.' e.t.c. I swear if anyone has a heart attack in the middle of the street I'm going to fall over laughing from remembering that.)  
  
Yes, I do read every single review. Probably at least twice when I get them, and then again when I update so I can check for questions/update list requests. I do have school and stuff. I have a very selective method of doing homework, which means that most of it gets done, normally in the morning/lunchtime before it's due in.  
  
Other: Latest news on the HP grapevine: The publication date for Book 5 has just been announced on Radio 4, according to my parents. The date is set, in England at least, for the 21st June. Note that date.  
  
Now everything necessary has been said. here's the chapter. Featuring the hospital wing, conversations, and an explanation of that strange energy thing.  
  
~*~  
  
The hospital wing never seemed to decline into darkness. Even now, as twilight fell, the curtained partition around Hermione's bed was merely a silvered grey, as though this room was neutral to both darkness and light. The greyness seemed to settle like dust, creating puddles and pools wherever it could.  
  
Hermione was restless. Madam Pomfrey had almost had a fit when she saw them at the entrance to the hospital wing, with dry clothes thanks to a well- remembered spell, but still shivering from the cold. She'd almost had hysterics when she heard of Hermione's near-death experience (a term which Hermione disliked, considering it far too melodramatic). As a result, she'd demanded that both she and Draco spend the night for observation. She proved to be a hypocrite, as she had left little over an hour ago for a drink at the Three Broomsticks.  
  
The sheets were crisp, heavy, and only slightly more pliable than cardboard. They seemed to pin her to the mattress, encasing her in a prison of cotton. She was perfectly fine now: she wanted to be up in the Gryffindor common room, laughing with Harry and Ron and a mug of hot chocolate, preferably with cream and marshmallows. The hospital wing was a place of healing, but there was no life in it: it was grey and dull, clinical and lifeless.  
  
Still, at least she had a chance to think. Draco was on the other side of the curtained partition, in his own private area of grey shadow, presumably asleep. Had she really remembered something when she almost died? She flicked through the memory again, looking for any detail she might have missed. The whole thing was vague and formless, like a dream.  
  
However feeble it was, it reassured her. She had made a start: got one memory back, at least. And now she had one, what was to stop the rest returning? Lucius had made a mistake: erasing such large portions of memory never works properly, according to the books Hermione had found in the library. There were always ways little bits of information could slip back.  
  
And now one had. It was like a ray of hope, shining through dark clouds. It was the cornerstone upon which she could rebuild the life Lucius had stolen, the ashes from which a phoenix could arise. It was the first step on the road, and Hermione was confident she could complete the journey.  
  
'I'm going to get my memory back.' she vowed to the silent hospital wing, her voice resolute.  
  
She hadn't expected Draco to be awake, and therefore when he spoke just less than a minute later, it came as a bit of a surprise. More surprising, though, was what he said.  
  
'Why?'  
  
Hermione frowned. Why?  
  
'What do you mean?'  
  
It was a strange experience, waiting for him to speak without being able to see him. Not that she'd have been able to read much of his expression anyway; he always seemed so guarded.  
  
'Well.' came his voice from behind the curtain. 'I know you didn't like me much before we. before things changed. If you've forgotten everything that happened, you should hate me still. So. why are you doing this?'  
  
There was a pause. Hermione didn't quite know what to say, what answer he wanted to hear. His tone hadn't given her any clues, and the only definite emotion she could get from his voice was an almost childlike questioning. The silence between them grew steadily more uncomfortable.  
  
'I'm sorry,' Draco said eventually, 'I shouldn't have asked.'  
  
'No, it's fine. I don't mind.' Hermione decided to settle for honesty. She took a breath, automatically composing her answer as though it were just another question in an exam.  
  
'You see, I've always tried to memorise things for school, and therefore.'  
  
Draco broke the flow of her incipient speech with a quiet snort.  
  
'What?' Hermione asked indignantly  
  
'Tried to memorise things? Hermione, I'd be surprised if there was a textbook in that library you don't know by heart. That was one of the very few topics that I could agree on with your two sidekicks.'  
  
'Harry and Ron.' she corrected automatically. Draco's voice seemed livelier, almost laughing, and some subconscious part of her was glad that he was happy.  
  
'It never felt right calling each other by first names, you know.' His voice sounded mischievously flippant. 'We'd really be much happier at each other's throats with a decent knowledge of some nasty curses and a wand. And possibly a sword as well.'  
  
'Well I wouldn't be happy.' Hermione pointed out.  
  
'I know. And that's why all three of us are still alive.'  
  
Silence fell, and the humorous air drifted away as they both remembered the more serious topic they'd only been trying to postpone. Hermione sighed.  
  
'I suppose. I've always depended on memorising things to succeed. I was prepared for anything if I knew the right answers. I knew I'd always succeed.' She wasn't quite sure why she was telling Draco this: except that subconscious part of her felt he needed to know, needed. what, exactly? Reassurance?  
  
'Whenever I try to think about. before, there's a sort of gap. Only it's not just an empty space, it's a huge area of blankness, if you know what I mean. Like a hole, or like being blind. And I want to fill it. It scares me, and I want to fill it.'  
  
She paused reflectively. 'I hate your father for this, Draco. I haven't forgotten anything about hating him. Except sometimes I can't remember all the reasons why I hate him.'  
  
She was silent, feeling as though some tidal wave had just washed over her. She felt as though something had just been lightened: the burden of the memory loss was no less heavy, but now she felt Draco could share in it more. Before they had both had their own, very specific problems that just happened to share the same origin. But now. now it felt like they shared the same difficulty, the same struggle.  
  
'Is that a good enough reason for you?' she asked with a weak smile, half teasing.  
  
'Yes.' Draco replied, and she was glad to hear his questioning tone gone, replaced with a kind of contentment. A contentment that believed, not that everything was all right, but that it would be.  
  
'I suppose, when it comes to this, there's no such thing as a bad reason.' Hermione speculated.  
  
'There is.' Draco said, sounding slightly distant. 'Sympathy.'  
  
'Sympathy?' echoed Hermione.  
  
'If you were going to get your memory back', Draco began, no longer sounding distant, 'I'd want it to be because it was what you wanted. I'd want you to do it for yourself, not because. you felt sorry for me. Does that make sense?'  
  
Hermione considered this. 'Yes. It does.'  
  
'Really?' He sounded surprised: Hermione couldn't suppress a little laugh. She looked over at the curtain; unable to see through it but knowing Draco was there.  
  
'Of course it does.'  
  
~*~  
  
Hermione didn't know when she fell asleep after their conversation. It might have been five minutes later, it might have been hours. But when she awoke it was morning, the curtains had been drawn back and the harsh bright winter sun was shining upon her, picking out the room in shades of glaring white.  
  
Draco was lying in the bed next to her, looking cross, sulky and faintly ridiculous with a wizard thermometer in his mouth. Before she could so much as snort, he had cast her a glare that warned her very firmly against the consequences of saying anything. Despite the glitter in his eye, she decided that probably the best course of action was to lie in bed, watching him out of the corner of her eye and wishing for a camera.  
  
Madam Pomfrey entered, beaming at Hermione. 'Good morning.' she smiled, taking the thermometer out of Draco's mouth. It looked exactly like a thin white stick.  
  
The nurse did something to the thermometer that Hermione couldn't quite see, and the stick announced in a clear androgynous voice, 'Thirty-six point eight degrees. Normal human body temperature.'  
  
'That sounds like good news.' came a voice, and Hermione's eyes flicked to the door where Albus Dumbledore had slipped into the room, silent as a cat.  
  
'It is, Albus. He doesn't seem to have caught anything, thankfully. Now, dear,' she said, moving to Hermione's side, 'it's your turn.'  
  
Hermione watched warily as she cleaned the thermometer with a muttered, 'Purgo', and unwillingly accepted the uncomfortable thermometer. It was exactly like a muggle thermometer, but without the mercury or markings up the side, and with the ability to speak.  
  
'If you wouldn't mind, Poppy, I would like a word with these two.' Dumbledore asked politely.  
  
'Of course, Albus.' Madam Pomfrey smiled, adding to Hermione, 'Keep that thermometer in, and don't talk unless it's absolutely necessary.'  
  
Dumbledore sat down as the nurse left, adjusting his glasses. 'The two of you do seem to be getting into a lot of danger recently.'  
  
Hermione opened her mouth to explain, utterly forgetting about the thermometer, which would have fallen out if she hadn't grabbed it quickly. Dumbledore held up a hand.  
  
'Yes, yes, I do realise that you do not do it on purpose. However.' he paused, the familiar twinkle dimming, 'Mr. Malfoy, I wonder if you could tell me whether anything. unusual happened yesterday?'  
  
'More unusual than being attacked by a giant squid?' Draco asked, and Hermione could see in her mind's eye his raised eyebrow.  
  
Dumbledore smiled. 'I was thinking of something magically unusual.'  
  
The flippant look vanished from Draco's face, and he frowned. 'Something did happen. Just after Hermione was dead.'  
  
'Could you describe it to me?' queried Dumbledore.  
  
Hermione had the feeling that something very serious had happened without her knowledge. She desperately wanted to know, but the thermometer prevented her from speaking. Angrily, she gave the thin stick a shove to one side with her tongue, as if it were to blame.  
  
Draco was thinking. 'Like a tingling feeling, but much stronger. And I think there was a glow as well, but I may have been imagining that.'  
  
Glowing? Hermione grabbed the thermometer stick, opening her moth with indignation. 'A what? Why didn't you tell me?' she asked.  
  
Well I was rather concerned with the fact that you had just died.' Draco retorted. 'And besides, I didn't think it was anything important. Was it important?' He asked Dumbledore.  
  
'I believe so.' The headmaster sighed. 'You have, if I am correct, saved Miss Granger's life three times now?'  
  
Three? A part of Hermione's mind asked with more resignation than amazement. Was it really that many?  
  
'There was yesterday, and the time we were escaping and Harry dropped her.' Draco conceded. 'But I can't think of a third time.'  
  
Rolling her eyes, Hermione grabbed the thermometer again, holding it still so she could speak. It ought to be perfectly obvious to anyone. 'When the Death Eaters were attacking Hogwarts and you jumped in the path of Avada Kedavra.'  
  
'It couldn't be then, because I didn't save your life; Ron did.' Draco pointed out.  
  
'Ah.' said Dumbledore. 'I am certain Miss Granger could explain the reasoning behind that, but as she ought not to talk at the moment suffice it to say that anything to do with saving people's lives is part of a very old kind of magic. What has really happened, from the magic's point of view, is that you saved Miss Granger's life and Mr. Weasley saved yours.  
  
'Right.' Draco said, and his tone gave Hermione the impression that he was about to say something along the lines of, 'I'd rather have died.' but in a far more witty way. Fortunately either Draco resisted the urge or Hermione was completely wrong.  
  
'So what exactly is going on?' Draco asked.  
  
'When one person saves another's life, it can create a certain bond between them. Normally this is not a magical bond, but a bond of friendship or similar.' Hermione nodded, remembering how Harry and Ron had saved her from the mountain troll in first year.  
  
'However,' Dumbledore continued, 'when one witch or wizard saves another's life three times, an extremely rare effect occurs. It's hardly documented: obviously in the normal run of things opportunities to save someone's life are rare, and therefore not many instances of this particular effect are known. It's called the Pericuscia effect.'  
  
'Is it dangerous?' Draco cut in on the headmaster's monologue.  
  
'I highly doubt that it is. According to the documentation, all it means is that you will be able to tell when Miss. Granger is in danger, and possibly where she is as well.'  
  
A silence settled over the three. Draco would know when she was in danger? Well that might be a good thing, especially since she never knew whether Lucius would take it into his head to attack her again.  
  
On the other hand, it was strangely uncomfortable, like some breach of privacy. Having him know when she was in trouble was somehow unpleasant: Hermione put it down to the fact that humans took pain or being injured as a sign of weakness, and hated to show that they were weak. It shouldn't bother her, she knew, but she'd rather have someone she felt more comfortable with coming to her rescue.  
  
'I do not think it is anything to worry about.' Dumbledore reassured them, standing up. 'However, I would like to know if anything unusual happens. But for now: breakfast is being served, and I should let Madam Pomfrey check you are both fine to go and eat.'  
  
He left, passing through the small nurse's office at the far end of the room. They didn't have time to say anything before Madam Pomfrey was rushing over to check the reading from Hermione's thermometer.  
  
'Thirty-seven point one degrees. Normal human body temperature.' reported the stick, and Madam Pomfrey smiled.  
  
'Well, you're fine to go. The house elves have brought you both clean clothes from your rooms: I'll close the curtains so you can both get changed.'  
  
Hermione glanced towards Draco. She only caught a glimpse of him before the curtain was drawn to a close: and that glimpse was happy and sad, pleased and worried, as if he was unable to make up his mind about what he had just heard.  
  
Hermione sighed softly. Things had just become more complicated.  
  
~*~  
  
A/N: Once again, Latin seems to have slipped into the narrative. 'purgo' means 'I clean', and Pericuscia comes from the Latin words 'periculum' meaning danger and 'scire' to know.  
  
Do any other fanfic writers tend to feel their characters are taking over the story? Because I increasingly get the feeling that they are. I mentioned that to my friend, who said, 'They don't exist. How can they take over the story?' Well technically they don't exist *sniff* but seriously, sometimes I wonder where these chapters appear from.  
  
Reviews? Please? 


	11. What Lies in Dreams

What Lies in Dreams

**Disclaimer:** Everything recognisable belongs to J.K. Rowling.

**A/N:** Thanks for 482 reviews goes to: KeeperOfTheMoon, KAOS, Queen Li, lexi wood (x2) MaliShka, willowfairy, plastic, Elissa-Dido, Rebecca, Yousei Kaijou, animegirl-mika, Angel: da Newsies fan, Jessica, aliveforever83, hyper_shark, Dragonsbane, WormmonABC, ~* paper star *~, Lazy aka Wind Elf, nycgirl, MoonDancerCat, draconas, Red Magic Marker, angkat14, Sao, Akira Gown, bookworm12, Amo il ragazzo(x2), Cassie, heavengurl899(x2), Joynspirit, kei-chan, mya14, EclipeKlutz(x2), Jessica Lee(x10), CrysMaul, Purple People Eater, firey fairy, Draco'sAmericanGurl. 

**Questions:** I think if Hermione got her memory back, she wouldn't automatically love Draco (but probably would love him after going through all the memories and doing a bit of soul searching…) Depressed!Draco shouldn't be around too much longer, don't worry…

Sorry I didn't update yesterday! The demons of writer's block are nibbling on my toes. Be thankful today was a day off from school, otherwise this probably wouldn't have been up till Saturday… As a result, this chapter is a little short and hasn't been beta read. And, in my opinion at least, not up to my usual standard. Sorry.

~*~

The room was instantly familiar. It was not the fact that the flickering fire in the hearth was the same, or that in spite of its glow the edges of the room were shadowed and dull, as if light refused to venture into the corners for fear of what it might find. The sickened yellow light hung around the single imposing armchair, a spotlight upon the two figures that played their scene in the centre of the room.

The seated figure was a thing from nightmares, with two slit snake's eyes that seemed capable of staring into someone's soul and caring not for what it saw there, using whatever was within to his best advantage. His fingers were long, spider's legs that curled around a shining wineglass filled with crimson.

The second figure was standing, the golden firelight catching on silver-blond hair, casting highlights on a pale-skinned face with sharply angled features.

'It would seem,' said the first figure in a voice that sent shivers down the spine, 'that your plan has failed, Lucius.'

'I did not think the girl would attempt to regain those memories. I presumed her hatred for my son…'

'I believe I have warned you against the dangers of presuming things.'

The man addressed as Lucius turned, facing that demonic figure directly. 'I apologise, my lord, and ask your forgiveness. I intended to punish him, and I shall of course take all steps necessary to fulfil your wishes in this matter.' He inclined his head respectfully.

The seated figure did not speak for a minute. He surveyed the wine in his glass; eyes not quite focused on the liquid, as though the answer to his thoughts lay somewhere between the particles that made up the blood-like wine.

Finally he placed the glass on a side table. 'In this situation, I believe our first course of action is to remove that Mudblood girl. Permanently. However, this will be difficult: that meddling fool Dumbledore is aware of the danger she is in. We shall require someone already inside the school: someone who would not normally be suspected…'

'And you have an idea, my lord?'

The figure's mouth curved into a cruel and malicious smile. 'Yes.'

~*~

'_What?_' Hermione asked Harry and Ron incredulously. This wasn't the kind of thing you expected to wake up to in the morning. They were sitting in the Gryffindor common room, quite early in the morning, which meant that thankfully no one was around.

'I had another dream last night.' Harry repeated anxiously, one finger tracing the line of his scar. 'Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy are planning to kill you.

'We thought you should know.' Ron added helpfully.

'You thought I should know?' Hermione asked. 'Voldemort's planning to kill me and you thought I should know?'

'Hermione…' Harry said, now looking increasingly anxious. Hermione held her face in her hands. On top of everything else that was going on, now she was Voldemort's target? It was too much to cope with. This was the kind of thing that happened to people in books and stories, not in real life. And in books, you could always flick to the last page and see if there was a happy ending. The future was set down in print unchangeable, certain. Not so in real life: the future was an ever-changing thing, and who knew how it would turn out?

'In the past few days,' Hermione began, 'I've been captured by a Death Eater, locked in a dungeon with my worst enemy, found out that said worst enemy was actually my boyfriend, been attacked by a Giant Squid, nearly died…'

In her tirade, she failed to notice the look of guilt on the boys' faces.

'And now, this.' she concluded, looking up at the two boys. 'What am I going to do? Everyone he's intended to kill has been killed…'

'I wasn't.' Harry pointed out.

'That was different though. What chance do I have against Voldemort?'

'Well, you've got us.' Ron pointed out. 'We can help.'

Some logical part of Hermione's mind pointed out that two teenage boys were unlikely to be able to do much against the most feared Dark wizard of their era, however many times Harry had been lucky enough to escape in the past. But still, she felt unaccountably reassured. If you were facing down incredible danger, it was nice to have friends at your sides.

'Thanks.' Hermione said with a weak smile.

'And,' Harry added, 'Voldemort can't attack the school himself. He said so.'

Hermione's head snapped up from where she had been staring desolately at the floor. It was a good point, and managed to satisfy the logical part of her mind that had been certain she was going to die.

'How's he going to attack me?' she asked.

'He said there was someone inside the school…' Harry screwed his face up, trying to remember. 'There was something about not suspecting them.'

Hermione sighed. 'Well, that's a big help.'

'Sorry, I woke up before I saw who they were going to use.' Harry said.

A grim silence fell over the three, as each began to think their own thoughts. About five minutes later, Hermione spoke with a sigh.

'I suppose you'd better send an owl to Draco.' she said, trying hard to ignore the surprised looks from both boys. She still didn't particularly like him, but she knew he'd want to know. And some nagging part of her refused to go away until she suggested it.

Harry stood, nodding. 'I'll go write a letter. Do you… what to meet up with him again? After school?'

Hermione shrugged. 'I guess so.'

~*~

The first half of the school day passed without much incident, apart from Harry, Ron and Draco watching her like hawks in Potions and Care of Magical Creatures, as if she were about to be attacked at any moment. Hermione couldn't fault them for that, after all, Voldemort was trying to kill her…

She brushed the thought aside impatiently, and sat on her bed. She was in her room, catching a few minutes away from Harry and Ron's nervous glances. Yes, she could appreciate that they were worried for her and wanted to help, but every time she saw one of them watching anxiously it only reminded her of the danger. She didn't want to live in constant fear: she'd rather try to enjoy herself.

They'd already eaten lunch, but Hermione in her nervousness hadn't done much more than pick at her spaghetti. And now, the rumbling of her stomach told her that if she didn't get something to eat soon, Voldemort wouldn't be killing her, because she'd already be dead of starvation.

Sighing, she left the room and hurried down the stairs, making her way over to Ron and Harry. 'I'm going to the kitchens to get something to eat, do you want anything?'

Ron shook his head. 'Do you want us to come with you?'

'I'll be fine.' Hermione assured him. 'I'll take my wand and I won't follow any strangers down dark corridors.'

Harry smiled at her slight sarcasm. 'Just be careful.'

'I will.' Hermione assured them, heading for the portrait hole.

Ten uneventful minutes later, she was tickling the pear on the entrance to the kitchens. It seemed to be being a bit moody today and required a lot of tickling before it was laughing sufficiently to swing open. She entered the kitchens to a smell of disinfectant: now that lunch was over, there was a manic amount of cleaning. The floor was shining with soapy water, elves were at the sink scrubbing pots and pans clean, and the entire room seemed to be in mayhem.

Hermione carefully made her way across the floor when, with a feeling of déjà vu, she felt a small figure collide with her legs, with enough force to make her feet slip on the wet floor and send her cannoning to the ground.

'Miss Hermione!' cried Ditty, eyes filled with tears.

'What's wrong?' Hermione asked, upset to see her elf friend crying.

'The… the Giant Squid!' squeaked Ditty. 'It attacked you!'

'Oh, don't be upset about that, Ditty.' Hermione said. 'After all, it wasn't your fault.'

'You mean… Miss Hermione does not know?' Ditty said, tears drying up had her eyes going wide.

'Know what?'

'Nothing…' the little elf said quickly. Hermione frowned, intending to ask more, but at that point her stomach alerted the world to its emptiness.

'Is Miss Hermione hungry? Ditty has more spaghetti!' the elf said, grinning widely and tugging on her robes. 

'Alright, alright, I'm coming!' Hermione said, clambering to her feet with another rumble.

Ditty vanished into the crowds, and Hermione was hard pressed to follow her through the bustle of the little elves. Finally she turned a corner to see Ditty awaiting her with a bowl of steaming spaghetti, piled high with grated cheese.

'Thank you.' she said, smiling as she took the bowl. She picked up the fork and spoon Ditty had provided and took a huge forkful which she could hardly fit into her mouth.

'Miss Hermione is very hungry!' exclaimed the little elf, giggling.

Hermione chewed and swallowed. 'I am.' she agreed. 'How are Dobby and Winky by the way?'

'Dobby is fine…' Ditty said, pausing nervously. 'Winky…'

'What's wrong with her? She isn't depressed again is she?'

'No, no. But Ditty thinks she is upset.'

Hermione chewed thoughtfully. 'Last time I was here she told me she felt jealous of you and Dobby. She was worried you were going to steal her friend… could that be it?'

Ditty liked a little embarrassed. 'Ditty thinks it is more than that, Miss Hermione. Ditty thinks…' here she glanced around with wide eyes, beckoning to whisper into Hermione's ear. 'Ditty thinks Winky is in love with Dobby, Miss Hermione.'

She could not have been more surprised if Ditty had just told her Winky was in love with Voldemort. 'What?' she gasped. 'Those two? I'd never have thought it.'

Ditty winked. 'Miss Hermione does not work in the same kitchen as them. Ditty sees what they're like.'

Hermione nodded. 'And now she thinks you're stealing Dobby away from her?' She paused thoughtfully, scooping up another forkful of spaghetti. 'You aren't, are you?'

Ditty frowned. 'Aren't what?'

'Stealing Dobby away from her? You two have been very close lately.'

The elf frowned politely. 'Dobby is Ditty's friend. Why would Ditty steal him away from Winky? Ditty likes Dobby but she doesn't love him.'

Hermione nodded, but internally she was frowning. There was something in Ditty's manner that suggested she wasn't being entirely truthful. Romance was not something Hermione was entirely sure of: and a house-elf love-triangle was too incredibly complicated for her to figure out.

Well, the elves would do fine on their own. She was sure any problems they had would get sorted out. Sooner or later.

Hermione put the now empty bowl down. 'I'd probably better go. Thank you for the food, and say hi to Dobby and Winky for me.

Ditty nodded, and Hermione left the kitchens feeling a little reassured that at least she wasn't the only one with romantic troubles.

~*~

**A/N:** Well, there it is. *groans* Yes, it wasn't as good or as long as normal. I'll try to get back to normal soon… *lays trap for first person to read without reviewing and sacrifices them to the Muses*

By the way, I'm still not 100% decided on how the house elves end up… and am open to being swayed either way. Review! Reviews help cure block. Well, they might…


	12. Colourful Sunset

Colourful Sunset

**Disclaimer**: Not mine. Only the plot's mine.

A/N: Thanks to: Rebecca, KeeperOfTheMoon, MoonDancerCat, KAOS, Hp1fan, MaliShka, Akida Lupin, Yousei Kaijou, JoeBob1379, Red Magic Marker, mutsumi, lexi wood, EclipseKlutz, christie, plastic, willowfairy, Queen Li, The Elfin Child, ~* paper star *~, L.Meylan, Wormmon ABC, SemiCharmed, Draconis, Joynspirit, Angel: da Newsies fan, draconas, aliveforever83, kei-chan, Dragonsbane, Weasley Pride, CrysMaul, Sao, saj aneri, firey fairy, Purple People Eater, dixiedogbud, Zubie, fallsauce!

**Questions**: For the millions of you who asked: no, the mystery person is NOT a house elf! Well, they're bound to serve their master who is in this case Dumbledore and would not permit them to attack students. *listens to sounds of elves slamming ears in oven doors* See what you made them do?

**Notes**: The writer's block is receding, although some part of me went a bit over the top describing sunsets… anyway, this chapter has more Draco and some plot developments. It's better than the last, or so I think! Read and enjoy.

~*~

Evening fell over Hogwarts. It was a glorious winter sunset, the kind that heralds a sharp and icy night. Icicles were already forming on trees, shining in the last rays of light like diamond stalactites, and the entire world was blanketed in a crisp layer of frost. 

The sky itself was a painter's paradise: black in the furthest ease, merging to deep purple and cobalt. Nearer the sunset it was cornflower blue, with majestic clouds in subtle shades of grey and white. Close to the horizon, pinks and golds laced the underside of the clouds, while the dying sun wrote its gilded elegy across the sky.

Through all this colourful turmoil walked the two figures of Draco and Hermione, the frost crunching under their feet as they walked around the lake, ripples picked out by sunlight, and ice already beginning to form where the trees cast their shade.

They didn't talk about anything much: about school that day, or about books they'd read, or about the sunset. It was as if to talk about anything else was to make it real, to accept it. 

Draco had a theory that there was a set of unseen rules in life. Some were obvious, like Slytherins didn't like Gryffindors – himself being an exception. Most were subtler and had to do with manners, and taboo subjects, and politeness, and embarrassment. These were the rules that most annoyed him, because there didn't seem to be any reason for their existence.

Now there seemed to be one of these unseen rules coming into play – one that prohibited talking about their past or Draco's father. Well, Draco was a Slytherin. The rules were made for him to break.

'Are you worried about my father?' he asked, trying to make it sound as casual as possible. Hermione still gave him a sharp sideways glance.

'Yes, of course.' she replied cautiously. 'But I think Harry and Ron are more worried than I am. And…' she chanced, 'I think you're really worried too.'

Draco kept his face carefully empty as he met her gaze. He didn't want her to see just how afraid he was for her. After all, he knew what his father was capable of… and if he could arrange for her to be killed painfully and slowly he would. He would have her murdered as brutally as possible, partly to make it a more punishing lesson, partly because he enjoyed causing pain.

He broke his gaze away from hers, not answering her statement directly. 'You should be on your guard. He – his agent – could attack at any time.'

Hermione nodded slightly. 'Do you have any idea who it might be? The person who he and Voldemort are going to use to kill me?'

'He said it was someone we wouldn't expect…. Which pretty much leaves it open to anything. But we know it won't be a Slytherin at least, because we'd expect that.'

'Unfortunately that still leaves most of the school.' Hermione sighed.  'Let's not talk about this. Talk about… Oh, I don't know. Tell me something. Something I've forgotten.'

Draco thought. 'Have you heard the story of the canary cream?' Seeing Hermione's negative shake of the head, he continued. 'As much as I hate to recall this incident, I have to admit it has its funny side…'

~*~

Hermione rifled through her bag for the book she had taken from the library. Where was the cursed thing? It had to be a law of nature, thought Hermione as she dumped a pile of parchments on the table, that whatever you wanted was always in the very bottom of the bag…

Finally she found it: a small, slim book with a purple and gold cover and a rather Muggle-like plastic cover. A curving golden title announced that this was, 'Memory Charms: How To Overcome Them Using Muggle Amnesia Cures, by Sylvia Grayson.'

Turning to the first page, she began to read. 

_Memory Charms differ greatly from the Muggle types of amnesia. The memory charm is far more specific in its usage, with the ability to erase any or all of a person's memories. The more memories that are lost, the easier it is to regain them. If a large amount of personal experience is lost, then it has a tendency to slip back into the mind. Muggle amnesia cures can help, as many of them have been designed to facilitate the retrieval of memory._

Half an hour later, Hermione set down the book, face thoughtful. The techniques seemed easy enough: it was a matter of concentrating very hard and allowing the subconscious to throw up memories. 

The common room around her was quiet: nearly empty, for most people liked an early night when there was school the next day. The fire was dying down now, and the atmosphere in the room was relaxed and friendly.

So why didn't she try the techniques now? The worst she could do was fail… and quiet, relaxed conditions were supposed to be best. She concentrated, deciding to focus on the story Draco had told her that day. Surely Draco-the-canary would be a particularly memorable event?

She concentrated trying to think of what must have happened without imagining things. The tables had been over there, and they had been sitting over here…

Fifteen minutes of concentration later, Hermione was beginning to feel rather silly. So far nothing had happened, and she doubted anything would tonight… Yawning, the picked up the book and dropped it back into her bag. Time for bed…

And then, flashing into her mind, came…

A canary, paler-feathered than most, looking irately at her, and she was laughing at the expression on its face because it still looked like Draco even through the feathers…

Hermione started, and the memory vanished. Had it been a memory? It had felt like one…

Feeling strangely shaken, she shoved her parchments roughly into her bag and headed for her room, still wondering if what just happened had really been a memory or just imagination. She would have to ask someone about it.

~*~

'How long was your homework?' Ron asked Hermione, his brow furrowed. 'I'm sure mine was too short, he asked for four feet and mine was at least an inch off. Do you think he'll take marks off for that?'

'He's Snape, of course he'll take marks off.' Hermione pointed out. They were walking through a fairly empty hallway, bags slung over shoulders and heading for Potions class. 'This isn't the best time to start worrying about it. You should have written some more last night.'

'Yes, but I couldn't _find_ anything!' Ron exclaimed in exasperation.

Hermione raised an eyebrow – an expression she had subconsciously picked up from Draco, although she didn't know it. 'Couldn't find anything or didn't _look_ for anything?'

Harry stepped in. 'He was looking, I was there. He even borrowed some of your books when you weren't looking.'

'Well, you'll just have to hand it in short and hope he doesn't measure them all.' Hermione said. 'Mine was four and a half feet, of course he only gave us two days to do it so I would have done more if I'd had the time…' 

Hermione opened her schoolbag and rifled through it, looking for her Potions essay. There was the sheet full of Runic vocabulary, and the Charms test from last week with a 120% mark, and the neatly penned notes on Mokes from Care of Magical Creatures…

Hermione's insides froze as she realised the Potions essay was missing.

'It's not here!' she exclaimed, desperately searching through her bag for the piece of parchment.

'What?' asked Harry, turning towards her. 'Where is it?'

'I don't know!' Hermione was frantic now, tearing through her bag like a frenzied whirlwind. 'Where could it be… oh, Snape's going to kill me!'

'Calm down.' Ron said. 'Could you have left it somewhere? In the dorms? In the common room?'

Hermione thought. 'Yes… I was looking for a book in my bag and I took most of the things in here out… I put them on a table near the fireplace. But… I don't have time to go get it now! I'll be late! Snape will be so mad!'

'He'll be madder if you don't have that homework.' Harry pointed out. 'He said specifically it was important, we needed to do that research for the summer exams…'

'Go get it!' Ron told her. 'Go now! Hurry!'

Hermione nodded and hurried off at full speed down the corridor. Harry glanced at his watch.

'Five minutes till the bell goes.'

'She's not going to make it.' Ron said gloomily.

'Well at least she'll have her homework.' Harry pointed out, and they set off together to Potions.

~*~

Hermione shoved the parchment roughly into her bag before fleeing the deserted common room. How could she have been so careless? She ought to have checked, ought to have made sure that she had her homework… idiot!

Her footsteps thudded through the corridors as she raced to get to class on time. Her heartbeat thudded through her ears, mingling with her silent chant – please don't let the bell ring, please don't let the bell ring, please don't let the bell ring!

The corridors were deserted, empty of people as she raced through the network of passageways. If only the Potions classroom wasn't so far away! She hefted her bag up, pulling it back onto the shoulder from which it had dared to slip as she ran. Hurry, hurry, hurry!

She was running so fast that she was bound to slip sooner or later, and slip she did, skidding painfully across the wooden floor. She winced, feeling splinters drive into her legs and palms.

'Ow.' she muttered to herself where she came to a stop. That blasted bag had slipped all the way down, the straps managing to cling on to her wrist. She pulled her hands free and attempted to stand.

It was only then she realised, with a burst of horror, that she hadn't slipped at all. She had been attacked with a simple – but effective – leg-locker charm.

Her head whipped upright, and she grabbed her bag, fumbling for her wand in its depths. 'Show yourself. I know there's someone there.' she said, sounding a lot less scared than she felt. Every shadow seemed to take on a sinister appearance, every doorway was one from which a monster could spring at any instant. And what would spring out at her? She grasped the reassuring handle of her wand.

'Greetings, Miss Granger.' The voice came from behind her, and Hermione's head whipped round to see its owner. The voice itself had been chilling: full of coldness and malice. It was also unexpectedly female; a fact that couldn't be discerned from the figure itself, which was hidden in a midnight-black robe. A hood was pulled over the face, and from it's immaculate appearance Hermione could tell it had been charmed to stay upright.

'Who are you?' she spat, trying to buy time. Surreptitiously, she drew the wand from her bag and muttered the reversal spell, freeing her legs. She kept them stiff as possible, realising that it could prove a surprise factor later.

'And why should I tell you?' said the voice, strangely familiar. Hermione tried hard to place it.

'I don't know.' Hermione shrugged casually. 'Maybe because… Convulsio!' she shouted, attacking the figure without warning. The figure's hand – the only area of their body visible – began to shake, and Hermione heard a gasp of pain. With a grim smile, she clambered to her feet, before readying herself to immobilise her enemy. This would all be over in a second…

But in spite of the cramps in her hand, the figure had her wand raised, shaking but aimed directly at Hermione. 'Speculum!' she shouted, and Hermione flinched in anticipation of the pain…

It didn't come. Had the cramps made her miss? Hermione straightened, lifted her wand arm… to discover that her left arm moved instead of her right. What was more, her wand was in it. She tried moving it right to point to her attacker, whose smirk Hermione could not see but could sense. Her arm moved left, away from the figure.

She barely had time to realise what was happening: that somehow she was seeing a mirror image of the real world, before the figure shouted, 'Acidus!' and a blaze of pain erupted across her arm. She fell to the floor, gasping back the pain, hearing the mirthless chuckle of her attacker ring in her ears…

~*~

**A/N:** Cliffhanger… tee hee! 

There was a lot of Latin in this chapter – 'Convulsio' means 'cramp', 'Speculum' means 'mirror' and 'Acidus' means unsurprisingly 'acid'.

So, what will happen to Hermione? Will she be rescued or will she die? And more importantly, what will happen to her potions homework?

You'll just have to wait for the next chapter. And you can berate me for the cliffie by leaving a review. Flames will be donated to the Chemistry labs at school, which are in dire need of matches to light Bunsen burners…


	13. Rescue

Rescue

**Disclaimer:** J.K. owns Draco, Hermione and the mysterious attacker, also Hogwarts and related things. Latin belongs to the Ancient Romans.

**Thanks:** for 567 reviews go to: asd, fergs, MaliShka, Prantis – Queen of Hearts, Queen Li, girly girl(x2), Zubie, plastic, mutsumi, christie, Amo il ragazzo, Purple People Eater, Red Magic Marker, Rebecca, lollylips3, hyper_shark, angkat14, ~* paper star *~, Eternal Queen, Sao, JoeBob1379, willowfairy, KAOS, princesspeach22, Cassie, lexi wood, mya14(x2), Wormmon ABC, Yousei Kaijou, Joynspirit(x2), MoonDancerCat, Haleigh, DaDeVaLiShDuCky, kei-chan, heavengurl899(x2) Weasley Pride, teee, Madame Plot Bunnie, Akira Gown, Dark Devil! 

**Replies:** Anyone who missed the canary cream incident, it was in Fire and Ice, to which this is the sequel. Go. Read. Review *grins* Also, when Voldemort said that it was 'someone who would not normally be suspected' he was really, really accurate. None of you are anywhere near correct!

**A/N:** Very very hectic time this week. I have a 3 page report on an obscure poet for whom I can only find 3 paragraphs of information, Maths coursework, parents evening, regular homework… I actually wrote part of this chapter in my Physics lesson! 

On top of all this, some inconsiderate people threw a rock the size of my fist through our bus window today. It hit one of my friends on the back of the head. So, all in all, not a good week. I hope all of yours are better, and also that you enjoy this chapter!

~*~

Draco leaned against the wall outside the Potions corridor, feeling the rough stone dig into his back. He tried to ignore the ceaseless chatter going on around him. Once he would have taken an interest in the gossip, even joined in, but at the moment it seemed rather… meaningless. 

Which worried him, because Slytherins were supposed to listen to gossip and rumour. There was always a chance that it might be true, and could be twisted to personal advantage. But really, what did it matter? There was nothing he had to gain… except for Hermione. And the banal conversation of his fellow classmates was hardly likely to magically restore her memory.

By habit, he glanced towards the Gryffindor side of the corridor to where she usually stood with Harry and Ron, directly under the torch furthest from the door. He could hardly miss the red beacon of Ron's hair, and spotted Harry directly beside him. But, with a sudden strange twist of his stomach, he realise that Hermione was nowhere to be seen.

He glanced at his watch. The lesson was supposed to start any minute, and still she wasn't here? That wasn't like her. She'd rather have all her fingernails pulled off than miss a lesson…

Frowning, he took a step in the Gryffindors' direction. But before he could ask them where she was, Snape swept along the corridor, glaring at the Gryffindors as he passed them.

Draco was pulled along in the crowd as everyone tried to get in at once, hoping for the best seats at the back. To his annoyance, he couldn't speak to Harry or Ron before he was swept into the classroom. He did, however, manage to grab a desk that was a respectable way towards the back.

He took out parchment and a quill, unable to keep himself from glancing towards the door and hoping Hermione would come in. Trying to deny his nervousness, he smoothed the parchment. If Hermione were in danger, Harry and Ron wouldn't have left her. And what about this Pericuscia thing? Shouldn't he know if she was in danger?

Not much reassured by this logic, he kept glancing at the door. Apparently, he wasn't the only one to notice her absence: Snape was eyeing the class with an evil glare.

'And will Miss Granger be joining us today?' he asked Harry and Ron with sarcasm.

'She's just gone to get her homework.' Harry muttered. 'She'll be here in a minute.'

'A minute? I think, when she finally decides to grace us with her presence, I shall remove points from Gryffindor house for her tardiness. One point per minute.'

He turned to the blackboard. 'Today, class, we are learning to make an incredibly difficult potion. I doubt most of you will be able to perform it correctly, however, for the few of you with any talent…'

Draco let Snape's words drift away. The instructions for making the potions were included in detail in their Potions textbook. Most of the others didn't realise that and just relied on their notes. The textbook was extremely comprehensive and ensured that Draco never went wrong.

Idly, he began to doodle on a corner of his parchment. An eye appeared slowly in the corner of his page, yet for all its detail it was blank and emotionless. Like he once had been. Had he changed so very much? He began, almost without paying attention, to add a thick eyebrow above it.

Without any warning, a sudden pain spread through his arm, a tingling and a burning. The only sign he showed outwardly was a puzzled frown as he glanced at his arm, which seemed uninjured. It was. But then, what could the cause of the pain be…?

His eyes flicked to the empty seat by Harry and Ron. No. It couldn't be… Hermione.

He thrust his arm into the air, wincing as he used his painful hand. Damn it… she was being hurt, and he had to get there…damn Snape, why couldn't he notice he had his hand up faster? There was no _time_…

Snape eventually broke from his long-winded lecture to ask, 'Yes, Malfoy?'

'Please, Professor,' Draco began, putting a hand to his stomach. 'I feel sick. Could I please be excused?'

'Sick?' Snape queried with a sharp glance.

'I think it might be food poisoning.' Draco said, trying to sound convincing.

Snape looked suspicious. 'I was not aware that any of the food at breakfast was not properly cooked?'

Draco pretended to clutch his stomach in pain. It wasn't difficult: new areas of pain were cropping up, and it was driving him nearly frantic with worry for Hermione. 'I was up early and asked the house elves to make me some bacon. I think that mightn't have been properly done.' He assumed a pained expression. 'Can I please go, Professor? I think I might be sick.'

'Go, go.' Snape looked irritated. Draco had to restrain himself from leaping from his seat; instead, he stood calmly and made his way towards the door slowly. To his credit, he managed to get halfway down the corridor before breaking into a run.

~*~

Damn, damn, damn. Why were there so many corridors? 

Draco ran blindly through the passageways, trying to keep on a path that would lead to Gryffindor tower in the hope that Hermione would be somewhere on it. But the staircases kept changing, and the doors moved and the paintings were misleading and driving him mad with their suspicious glances.

This was pointless. He came to a stop in the middle of one long passage: no different to any other passageway in Hogwarts. The paintings around him were whispering, gossiping viciously just out of his hearing.

One of them, a picture of a fat and red-cheeked man sitting on a pure white horse, had the audacity to address him. 'What are you doing here, boy? You ought to be in your lessons.'

'I'm looking for someone.' Draco hissed back. Hadn't Dumbledore said he should be able to tell where she was? All he could feel was the echoing pain, a new burst of which erupted every few moments. So much for that theory.

'Have you seen a girl? Her name's Hermione, she's got brown hair…'

The man regarded Draco in a manner that put him very much in mind of a peacock ruffling its feathers. 'I pay no attention to the silly pupils of this school. Children today do not know how to respect their betters.'

Draco could not help muttering 'Git.' under his breath as he turned away from the painting. Another echo of Hermione's pain spread up his leg. Damn it, where was she…?

'Did you say you were looking for Hermione?' asked a childish voice from his left. He turned to see a silver-framed picture of a little girl, starting at him with abnormally large green eyes that reminded him of a house elf. The eyes were framed by a tangle of messy hair which he suspected hadn't been brushed in a while.

'Yes…' Draco replied, hardly daring to let himself hope. 'Do you know where she is?'

The little girl, never moving those unnerving eyes away from him, nodded slowly. 'I saw her running from the Gryffindor common room five minutes ago. She was in an awful hurry.'

'Can you show me where?' Draco asked urgently.

The girl nodded, smiling suddenly. 'Follow me!' she shouted, grabbing two handfuls of white dress and tugging it above her ankles, before breaking into a run, ducking through the crowds of smartly dressed ladies in the next picture along. Draco had no choice but to follow, racing down the corridor to keep up with his guide as she flitted in and out of the pictures, stumbling in her excitement and occasionally disappearing from view only to reappear a few portraits along.

Eventually, she came to a stop in the middle of a picture of a vase of lavender. Something was wrong with the perspective, as the child barely reached the top of the vase, and had to push aside a purple-headed sprig to speak to him.

'It was here I saw her.' the girl informed him, face flushed from the running. Raising an arm, she pointed down the corridor. 'She was going that way.'

'Thank you.' Draco said, and he meant it. Turning, he set off down the corridor, instinctively drawing his wand from the inside pocket of his cloak and gripping it tightly. He could hear the blood rushing through him, hear his heartbeat resound in his skull. The only other noise was the hollow sound of his footsteps on the stone.

And then came a distant cry, between a scream and a plea for help, sending another pain echo twanging through his arm…

Without even thinking about it, he broke into a run, racing through the corridors. His blood had turned to ice at the cry: it felt frozen solid, almost, and barely moving in his veins.

Where was she? He had only that weak cry to guide him, and blindly he ran in that direction, hoping that fate would lead him right. Every corner could be the one that led to Hermione; every corner he took left other possibilities behind. Was he going the right way? Where was she?

By sheer fortune, another shout came, closer this time, on his right. He skidded to a stop, eyes desperately searching out the way to go. There was only one turning leading right. He ran through it, turned a few corners…

And was faced with the sight of Hermione, injured on the floor but still fighting back bravely, while a hooded figure laughed maliciously and raised its wand for another attack…

Draco was quicker. 'Testaevitri!' he shouted, sending lethal shards of glass towards the figure, which raised an arm to shield its face. A piece gouged a long thin tear down the fabric, and a trickle of blood showed that an arm had been cut as well.

The shadowed face turned towards him, raising an arm to attack. Draco raised his wand, prepares to counter-curse, but Hermione was already there.

'Cruor!' she shouted, and the wound of the figure opened wider and deeper, causing it to gasp in pain.

Draco, seeing his moment, raised his wand to cast the full body-bind and discover who the figure was. But, seeming to sense his intent, the figure backed away.

'You have not won yet.' it hissed in a feminine though unfamiliar voice. Then it turned and fled. Draco tried to send a spell after it, but the figure dodged, and vanished round a corner.

He rejected the idea of giving pursuit. After all, Hermione was injured: how could he leave her here? Turning back, he saw her pale-faced, obviously in pain. He bent down to kneel beside her, searching for the right thing to ask. 'Are you okay?' was rather pointless as it she obviously was not.

It was Hermione, however, who spoke first. 'I guess that's four, then.'

'Four what?' asked Draco, puzzled.

'Four times you've saved my life.' Hermione said, paling even more.

Draco shook his head. 'Whoever it was, they wouldn't have risked killing you in Hogwarts. Do you want to go to Madam Pomfrey?'

'No, I've already missed fifteen minutes of Potions. Snape's going to be furious. I won't even ask how you managed to get here.' she said, trying to get to her feet.

'Don't try to get up.' Draco told her, and surprisingly she listened to his advice. 'And you can't just walk into Snape's classroom bleeding. Let me help…

He pointed his wand at her, trying to aim for the largest wound. 'Sanare.' he said, and the wounds began to heal themselves. Hermione looked impressed.

'Healing spells are extremely advanced magic!' she said. 'How on earth did you learn those?'

'Came in handy when I was younger.' Draco said without expression. Hermione hadn't remembered about that particular aspect, but from her face Draco could see that she'd put two and two together.

Hermione tried to stand again, but managed to get her feet tangled and fall back down. 'Dratted curse…' she muttered, pointing the wand at her eyes. 'Finite Incantatem.' she said, and blinked.

'She used a spell to attack your eyes?' Draco asked.

'Some sort of mirror-vision spell, I think.' Hermione replied. She clambered to her feet and went to pick up her schoolbag, which was lying in a corner.

'Hey, look at this!' she exclaimed, turning to Draco and holding out a single quill. It was made from a pure white feather, in such a pristine shade that Draco wondered at first if it was real. The nib was unusual, made from silver and covered in intricate swirls and engravings. In the centre of the design were two single letters:

'M.B.' read Draco. 'Who's that?'

Hermione looked pensive. 'I don't know, but I know how we can find out…' She glanced at her watch, suddenly nervous. 'We've missed almost _twenty minutes_ of Potions!' she exclaimed with horror.

Draco couldn't help but smile at Hermione's rather predictable reaction.

~*~

As usual, lots of Latin spells used… 'Testaevitri' from 'testae' meaning 'shards' and 'vitri' meaning 'of glass'. 'Cruor' is a nice little word meaning 'gore', and 'Sanare' is simply 'to heal'.

So, the mysterious M.B… And you get to find out all about her sometime in the future.

Do I even need to say the last thing? Oh, well, I'll say it anyway…

Review!!!


	14. Snow and Sorcery

Snow and Sorcery

**Disclaimer:** If you hadn't figured this out by now: I own none of them.

Thanks for 611 reviews goes to: KAOS, Katrina, Hp1fan, Red Magic Marker, plastic, Cassie, mutsumi, Angel: da Newsies fan, CrysMaul, lexi wood, hyper_shark, hey there cutie, mya14, Blue Waffle, ~* paper star *~,  angkat14, Akida, Lulu81, WormmonABC, L. Meylan, willowfairy, Queen Li, Elronds Bane, Sao, MoonDancerCat, draconas, Melala, firey fairy, Yousei Kaijou, Akira Gown, JoeBob1379, Whitman, kei-chan, GirlEnigma, Moon Trail (x2), StarJade, Anne, malishka, Morigan Riddle, Purple People Eater, Joynspirit, CrysMaul, Shavanah, Siobhan, lil-blue-chimp!

**Replies:** The update day changed to Wednesday (because I wanted to post on Xmas day!) I know Latin because I learn it in school (at GCSE level which is ridiculously complicated!) And if anyone wants to use Glacios references (GirlEnigma) it depends exactly what you mean… The word is from Latin so you're free to use similar words, but if the spell effects are similar I'd prefer for you to mention that you have my permission in your A/N. I've seen people who stole it get some pretty nasty reviews!

**A/N:** I absolutely love leading you all up the garden path with the mystery of M.B.! I'll only tell you one thing – she is not an original character. Apart from that, you'll just have to wait till the characters find out.

 I apologise in advance for the fact that this chapter isn't very good (in my opinion) The dreaded block, plus holiday arrangements, plus utter hiatus managing to fall out with two of my friends, meant that I wrote most of it… well, on the day it was due up. Heh. Next chapter should be back to normalcy.

More bad news: **No chapter next week!!!** This is because I'm going to be in Rome on a school trip. But the next chapter will be up the Wednesday after as usual.

And having said that, enjoy this chapter!

~*~

After at least five minutes of lock breaking charms, Hermione finally managed to open the door of the abandoned classroom. It must have been closed off for years, perhaps even centuries. The entire room was coated in a thick layer of dust, which swirled chokingly around their feet as they entered. The feeble rays of light from the corridor outside which bravely tried to light the interior lit upon an old blackboard, screwed to one wall, with an aged wooden frame. A chalked message had once been scribbled on the board, but age and time had worn it to a pale ghost.

Draco, looking around the room, summed it up in one sentence: 'This place is a dump.'

Harry took out his wand, muttering 'Lumos.' A pale light spread out, lighting the room a bit better. It also lit upon a rather cross-looking ghostly figure, with a spotty face and huge glasses.

'Oh, Myrtle…' Hermione began rather guiltily, but was interrupted by the ghost.

'So it's alright to just barge into someone's home and call it a dump, is it?' she said with a baleful glare.

Hermione made an attempt at diplomacy, putting on a sympathetic smile. 'We're sorry, Myrtle. We didn't know you lived here. Did you have to move after the Chamber of Secrets was opened?'

'You still said it's a dump.' She sniffed resentfully.

'We didn't mean it, Myrtle…' Ron protested.

'Yeah, we didn't know you lived here. It looks really nice as a home…' Harry added.

Myrtle scowled. 'You don't really mean that. Besides, this isn't my home all the time: sometimes I live in the Lake or the prefect's bathroom. And you haven't come to visit me for ages.'

Draco looked slightly bemused. 'Could someone explain what's going on here?'

Myrtle turned to him with a pity-demanding expression. 'They used to come and visit me all the time a few years ago, when they were making that potion in my bathroom, but they don't anymore.' She rubbed a tear from her eye with a transparent hand.

'Nope, I'm still lost. What potion?' Draco asked Hermione.

'The Polyjuice Potion.' Hermione replied, seeing his look of further confusion, she turned to her housemates. 'Did we not tell him about that?'

'Erm…' began Harry. Ron burst in with the answer before Harry could.

'No.'

Hermione sighed, inadvertently choking slightly on the dust that they had swirled into the atmosphere. She turned back to Draco, whose pale hair and skin almost seemed to glow in the dim light – a thought she immediately pushed away – and explained.

'Well basically, when the Chamber of Secrets was opened in second year, we thought…. basically, we suspected you.'

Draco actually snorted. 'You did? Should I take this as a compliment or as an insult?'

'Whichever you prefer. Anyway, we used Myrtle's bathroom to make something called a Polyjuice Potion in, Polyjuice Potion is used to transform a person's physical features into that of another. Harry and Ron used it to turn into Crabbe and Goyle and ask you whether you were opening it or not.'

Draco looked impressed. 'Cunning plan. I presume it was yours?' 

Myrtle distracted Hermione's attention by floating up to her and staring her in the face. 'What are you doing here now?'

'We need to make another potion….' Hermione began, but Myrtle cut her off by letting out an almighty sob and rising into the air.

'I knew it! You don't care about me, you only want to use my homes to make your stupid potions!' she howled, before flying off through the blackboard with a ghostly wail.

There was a few moments silence. 'Well that was strange.' Draco eventually said. 'Is she normally like that?

'Yes.' replied Harry shortly.

Hermione decided to busy herself with the preparations. She knelt on the dusty floor, unpacking a collapsible cauldron from her bag and muttering the charms to return it to its normal state from the far smaller and lighter 'collapsed' version. 'Now, the Genitive Potion - according to the textbook – should take a week or so to prepare. We need to put the quill into the cauldron before anything else. It should come out unharmed… but with the identity of the owner clearly marked onto it.'

Draco pulled the ornate quill out of his pocket, casting an eye over the detailed engravings. 'Are you sure this is going to work?' he asked. 'It seems far too… easy.'

'According to the book it should work perfectly.' Hermione replied. 'And it will take a week or so to prepare. A week in which, don't forget, I'm still open to attack.' She gave the three boys a glance. 'But if we're careful it should be fine.'

Draco nodded, and crossed the floor to place the quill into the cauldron. He moved soundlessly, like a cat, and put the white feather into its receptacle with a kind of reverence, making the potion and its preparation seem like an esoteric ritual.

Hermione smiled and began to chop the oak roots she'd taken earlier from the student's store cupboard.

~*~

The daily walk around the lake, even after the squid incident, had become a habit. They hadn't bothered to arrange it anew that day, but each had found their way to the hall at the same time as usual. And so, again, they were walking.

It had snowed overnight: only an inch or so, but it had been enough to cover the world in a crisp white layer. Some of the snow had iced over, and their footsteps made a definite crunch as they made each step, leaving perfect impressions in the ground behind.

Hermione glanced at the sky, which unlike the colour filled sunset of the previous day was simply turning from white and blue to grey, the sun only serving to cast brighter highlights on a scene that was already pale and reflective. It was strange to think that it had been so different yesterday. But then, many things had been different yesterday…

The attack by M.B. had left no physical marks – thanks to Draco's healing spell – but she still felt unnerved. Every shadow could hide someone, every movement out of the corner of her eye was the mysterious hooded figure… she felt tense, over alert, like a frightened rabbit.

But of course, M.B. could and probably would attack at any time. Nowhere was safe anymore:  not the corridors of Hogwarts, not the common room, not even out here in the freezing cold. The lessons, under the watchful eye of the teachers, were probably somewhat safe: after all, who would dare to attack with a teacher there?

'Who do you think M.B. is?' she asked aloud: more for the sake of conversation than anything else. Draco glanced up at her, his silvery eyes unreadable.

'I don't know, really. The only person I know with those initials is Millicent Bulstrode, but she's too obvious…. Voldemort said it was someone unexpected.'

Hermione nodded. 'We really should go through everyone in the school and see who has those initials… but it wouldn't be practical. The potion will be quicker anyway. But still… I wish there was something I could do, something to spend my time on, just so I could feel I was doing something.'

She wasn't really sure why she was telling Draco this. Possibly because she wanted to, possibly because the few memories she'd regained were slowly but surely changing the way she felt…. she didn't know.

'I know what you mean.' Draco said suddenly, and Hermione looked sideways at him sharply. His face was still blank, but his posture gave something away: he seemed almost vulnerable for a second. 'I want to do something too. I hate having to wait and do nothing.'

His response surprised her: she would have thought that with a suitably planned scheme underway he would have been content. She didn't say this however, just continued to crunch through the snow. Speaking to Draco was an odd mix: one instant they were uncomfortable, the next they were talking as openly as if they had been friends for years. Of course, more than friends at one point…

'What lessons do you have tomorrow?' Hermione asked, trying to find a suitable topic.

'Runes, Potions, Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy –drat, I have a test…'

'What on? Calculations involving quadratics?' Hermione asked. Draco nodded. 'We had that last lesson. It's pretty easy, as long as you remember about negative square roots being imaginary, and make sure you don't forget the common formula.'

'I hate the common formula.' Draco groaned. 'It just doesn't make sense, and it's really hard to remember.'

'Negative b, plus or minus the square root of b squared minus…'

'Stop, stop!' interjected Draco in mock horror.

'…. four a c, over two a.' Hermione finished, beaming. 'It's not that hard!'

'Yes it is.' grumbled Draco. 'Let me see… negative b plus or minus b squared…'

'You forgot the square root.' Hermione said. 'Anyway, you're supposed to learn this later. Now is not the time for Arithmancy.'

'Is there such a thing?' Draco asked with a teasing smile.

'As what?'

'As a time which is not for schoolwork?' Draco asked. 'I'd have thought schoolwork was absolutely paramount with you. It always used to be.'

Hermione trudged on a few steps through the snow before giving her answer. 'I guess… with all the things that keep happening, well, some things are more important. Like Voldemort trying to kill me or attempting to get my memory back. Schoolwork is important but… I guess I just have more things to worry about.'

Draco nodded. 'That makes sense.'

And again, that transition from closeness to awkwardness, and the sudden silence as they paced through the snow. It was clean and white and its coldness seemed to radiate through the air. It wasn't the bitter punishing cold of a fierce winter wind, but rather the impersonal blank coldness that you feel on an ice rink. Hermione always felt that the icy winds were conscious and acting against her personally, while this coldness was not sentient: it just was.

'Do you like the snow?' she asked, again nothing more than a forced conversation topic.

'It's cold.' Draco observed. 'Beautiful, but cold. I ought to be used to the cold, and I am, but I still prefer to be warm.'

And yet again they were in the area of closeness, swinging around like a pendulum and never quite deciding how to act. The Glacios curse was something Draco wouldn't normally speak about, that much she knew, and his reference to it hinted at their past.

'Apart from the cold, I like it. I suppose you can have snowball fights and make snowmen and stuff like that, which might be fun. I've never tried.'

'You've never had a snowball fight?' asked Hermione in surprise.

He turned towards her with an eyebrow raised. 'What, and actually have a semi-normal childhood? Heavens forbid!'

With a slight shrug of the shoulders, he walked on through the snow, crunching it underfoot. Hermione paused, biting her lip, trying to come to a decision…

With a speed born of impulse she bent to the ground, scooping up a snowball, feeling the agonising cold on her skin. She straightened, crushing it carefully into a spheroid, and taking careful aim at Draco's retreating head, a small smile playing on her lips.

He stopped and turned suddenly. 'Why are you…' he began, before Hermione's snowball hit him in the face with deadly accuracy. The look on his face, of bemusement and surprise, sent Hermione into hysterics.

'You threw a snowball at me.' he said petulantly. 

'And I hit you.' Hermione said when she'd finished laughing. 'With perfect aim!'

Draco's face broke into a sudden smile. 'Yes, yes, well done Hermione. Shall I sculpt a little trophy out of snow?' he bent to the ground as if to do so: it took Hermione a second to work out his real intent.

'Oh no, don't you dare…' she said, turning to run. 'Don't you dare…' she shouted, laughing despite herself.

From behind her came the crunch of running feet, Draco's laughter and the sudden heavy thud of snow against her back. She bent to the earth to scoop up a handful of the fragile white powder, her laughter combining with his as she did so.

The fight had begun!

~*~

The snowball fight was inspired by a roleplay I was doing a few Sundays ago, where two characters (one of which was mine) ended up having little playful fights with washing up water, ink, pasta and other types of food, and many other things. Including sword fighting with globes.

The 'Genitive Potion' is not actually Latin (shock, horror!) but the word genitive is uses to describe the declension of a noun which shows ownership (e.g. the girl's letter, 'puella epistolae', with epistolae being genitive showing that it belongs to the girl) As all the actual Latin words for owner were thing like 'possessor' I decided it worked better.

And that's about it, apart from to remind you there's no update next week. 

Reviews and feedback, please!


	15. Taking Action

Taking Action

**Disclaimer:** J.K. owns Harry Potter and all related characters.

**Thanks** for 652 reviews goes to: Red Magic Marker, Akida Lupin, Morigan Riddle, Cassie, mutsumi, lexi wood, Angel: da Newsies fan, Siobhan, Rebecca,  plastic, Yousei Kaijou, Lulu81, hyper_shark (x2), « · * · », mya14, WormmonABC, Azraele, angkat14, ~* paper star *~, Queen Li, KAOS, MoonDancerCat, Jessica, Draco'sAmericanGurl (x2), Anon, Mystical Stormz, willowfairy, CrysMaul,  Weasley Pride, Pippin, Jensei no Megami (x2), anty, chrissy (x2), Samson, Erica!       

**Replies**: Once again: M.B. is **_NOT_** an original character, and updates are on **_Wednesdays_**. Apart from that – someone anonymous said that Arithmancy was like a solid form of Divination using numbers. Well… there isn't any proof that Arithmancy _doesn't _require quadratic equations to work out the future. And I like it that way, make the characters suffer what I do… (evil sadistic me!)  And I went to Rome as in Italy. Also the Bay of Naples, which was better (I recommend Pompeii!). It was part of my Latin class, although it was optional to go (2 people including me went from my class, 5 people in total from my year, most people were from the years above).

**A/N**: I'm back from Italy! Cower in fear… *cough* Anyway. I had a good time. As a result of the break I've actually produced a chapter I'm reasonably happy with, despite the fact that it was entirely written on the day it was due up... And it has a kiss scene (don't get excited: it's only a memory!)

I've kept you long enough, so… read on…

~*~

'I still don't know how you managed to get snow down the back of my neck.' Hermione grumbled, twisting her arm around to try and scrape out as much of the freezing cold powder as possible.

'Impeccable aim.' Draco replied. 'And perhaps the fact that I hid behind the tree and leapt out at you from close range had something to do with it?'

Hermione snorted. 'I still say that was unfair. You attacked me from behind.'

'Yes, I know. Brilliant plan, wasn't it?'

'If you mean incredibly cunning, then I suppose it was. It was still unfair though. I didn't even have a chance.'

Draco gave a smirk that was rather reminiscent of their first few years at Hogwarts. 'What else do you expect when you have snowball fights with a Slytherin?'

Hermione cast such an uncharacteristically evil glare at Draco that he laughed.

'Evil doesn't suit you, Hermione.' he pointed out. 'You look like you're dying of the plague.'

'I do not!'

'Yes, you do.' Draco teased with a glint in his eye.

Hermione groaned. 'I give up! Arguing with you is pointless.'

'I know. It's a talent.' he replied. Draco had an unusual way of being good-naturedly arrogant and smug without actually sounding like he was. Hermione couldn't decide whether this annoyed or fascinated her.

There were a lot of things, when she thought about it, that she couldn't decide on. Draco was… an enigma. If someone had asked her to describe him in three words, she'd have ummed and erred for a bit before saying something safe like 'Male, blond, Slytherin.'

It wasn't that there was a complete lack of words to describe Draco. On the contrary, there were far too many. Any description of one of his characteristics would have required at least a few sentences, and if you decided to write in detail about every aspect of him you could probably fill a decent sized book.

In fact, thought Hermione on an idly metaphorical whim, Draco was like Hogwarts. Complicated and big, with some parts that you saw daily and some which you saw on occasion, and some rooms locked away and forgotten and filled with the guilty whispers of the past. And then there were the moving staircases and trick doors, things that were there to keep you on your toes and thinking fast. 

Of course, if she'd told him that, he'd have said: 'I know. It's a talent.'

~*~

'There's nothing better than hot chocolate after a snowball fight.' Draco said.

'Too true.' Hermione replied. 'Especially with marshmallows.'

'And cream.'

'And caramel sauce'

'And chunks of chocolate, dark for preference.'

Hermione laughed. 'I see we have similar tastes.'

They were wandering through the corridors, making their way to the kitchens in search of something delicious and warming after the cold weather of outside.

'My hands are burning.' Hermione said concernedly. 'I bet I'm going to get chilblains. Remind be to take my gloves next time.'

Draco took out his wand. 'Let me help.' He pointed the beautifully crafted wand towards Hermione's hand. 'Perninon.' he said, and the burning sensation subsided.

'Thanks.' Hermione said as they reached the painting. She paused, however, before tickling the pear. Even from outside they could hear loud, high-pitched shouting. Hermione groaned.

'Winky knew him first!' one voice screamed. 'He should be mine!'

'Just because you knew him first doesn't mean you're best for him.' replied the other voice. 'Ditty knows what it was like for Dobby, living with the Malfoys. Winky can never know that!'

'What?' asked Draco. 'Did she say Malfoys?'

Hermione nodded and began to explain. 'Both your father's ex-house elves – Dobby and Ditty – work here now.'

'Yes, I knew that…'

Hermione sighed as a particularly loud shriek split the air. 'Well, there's kind of a love triangle going on… Ditty loves Dobby, and Winky loves him too…'

'Winky? Wasn't that Mr. Crouch's old elf? The one who was messed up in all that stuff at the end of fourth year?'

Hermione nodded.

'Should we go in?' Draco asked.

'No. We'd probably only make things worse… I doubt either of us knows how to deal with love struck house elves. Leave them to argue it out themselves. There are other elves in there to take care of anything that goes dramatically wrong.'

'Alright.' Draco agreed. 'I'd better go then. See you tomorrow?'

'See you tomorrow.' Hermione confirmed.

~*~

Arriving at the common room, Hermione was pleased to find it fairly empty. The Quidditch team were off practicing for the big game against Hufflepuff next weekend, the third and fourth years were at the Astronomy tower doing some evening observations, and the seventh years were all in the library revising for the NEWTs.

Hermione took a seat on one of the crimson sofas, wondering when Harry and Ron would return from Quidditch. Idly, she fingered a golden tassel. What to do… she'd done all her homework already, and none of her friends were here to talk to. She almost wished she'd stayed out longer with Draco. Ah… now there was an idea… Draco. Memories.

Hermione had been doing this more and more lately. Perhaps it was because Ron and Harry were practicing Quidditch more, perhaps – she didn't let herself think it, but perhaps because she liked Draco more. She recalled the instructions of the book, instructions she'd followed a hundred times before. Find a nice, quiet place where you can relax… The common room wasn't exactly quiet, but it would do. Then close your eyes, relaxing your muscles and releasing tensions and stress… and concentrate on the person or object most connected with the memories.

Somehow this part always made her slightly… embarrassed. She felt as though everyone around her was telepathic and could read her thoughts, could laugh and snigger over how hard she was concentrating on Draco, would make assumptions…

Still, she tried to ignore that vulnerability. Concentrating, Hermione drew up an image. She thought of Draco as she'd seen him barely fifteen minutes ago, Draco laughing, with a mischievous glimmer in his eye, snow speckling his black cloak and winter robes. Unconsciously, she smiled.

She could feel it coming, a memory. She saw it in her minds eye, like the damp spark of a firework's fuse, which grew and grew and grew like the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, until the light was blinding and the firework exploded and…

Hermione remembered.

~*~

_Warm darkness surrounded her, drowsy in its lavish abundance. All was quiet, the perfect silence broken only by the occasional sigh of wind, the distant calling of a bird, the rhythmic tune of two heartbeats not in rhythm and two people's breathing, even and slow before sleep._

_Everything seemed very safe and calm, peaceful and still. Draco had an arm tightly around her, hugging her in a fashion that was rather unlike him, but she wasn't objecting. Smiling slightly to herself, she curled her fingers to hook around his arm, and let herself drift._

_'It's nice having you here.' Draco mumbled drowsily. Hermione opened her eyes blearily and glanced up at him. His usually immaculate hair now fell in messy fragments across his face, but it suited him. Even when he was half-asleep, he still contrived to look perfect. Hermione smiled at the thought._

_'Well, remember I'm only here because it's your birthday tomorrow. And Snape's away.' Hermione told him, closing her eyes again and attempting to find a comfortable spot on his shoulder. He shrugged her off slightly before giving in and allowing her to stay. _

_'Actually…' Draco said, raising his other arm. 'It's my birthday today. It's past midnight.'_

_'That late!' exclaimed Hermione. 'We have school tomorrow! And I have to wake up early to get back to Gryffindor Tower before anyone notices! We're going to be falling asleep in lessons.'_

_Draco shrugged, accidentally making Hermione's head slide back onto the pillow. 'Alright, let's sleep then. Doesn't the birthday boy get a good night kiss?' he asked jokingly._

_Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Oh, alright.' she replied, making it sound like a great burden. Smiling to herself, she leaned over and kissed him._

~*~

Back in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione was rapidly turning red.

Well, of course she'd always _known_ that they must have… well, kissed… but she'd never really thought about it happening. She pressed her hands to her burning cheeks. What on earth was she getting so embarrassed about? It had only been a kiss.

Hermione took a deep breath and prepared to take refuge in big words. What she had just remembered was… a typical social interaction, common among those in her peer group, which frequently occurred between two people in a romantic state. Nothing to get embarrassed about. She repeated this mantra a few times in her head.

It was _still_ a kiss.

Groaning quietly, Hermione leaned forwards and banged her forehead against the table. At least no one would see her blood-red cheeks. Why on earth was she getting so embarrassed? It must have happened hundreds of times in her forgotten past… oh, drat, there she went again, flaming up like a firework.

It seemed that recently she'd been doing nothing but skirting around the topic of romance. Skirting round it in her own thoughts, skirting round it with Harry and Ron, skirting it especially with Draco. Why the sudden taboo? 

If she were to get her memory back, surely she should be talking to Draco about it, trying to recount past times. Not these polite circles round the lake. They were useful in their way: she could at least get to know him better as a friend. But everyone was avoiding the topic of love. And if they went on pretending it wasn't there…

The future stretched before her, full of eternal circles around the lake, circles in which she and he would chatter about nothing much. Circles in which she would continually be asking herself: did she love him yet? And always answering: I don't know, I'm not sure, I mean I like him… but… how do I know?

Something had to be done about it.

Just talking to him about it would be forced and unnatural… but how else could she make the topic comfortable again? How could she find out what it had been like…

By living it first hand?

The sheer audacity of the idea shocked her. But... it would work. If she told him she loved him again, they'd be awkward for a while, but then get close… and she'd love him properly, and not have to worry about endless circles and eternal questions. It wouldn't be a lie… she did like him, he was kind and funny and never kid quite what you expected…

And it would work. Everything could stop being so awkward and everyone would be happy. And they could finally start talking about romance. And she'd remember things and love him again…

Yes. In the long term, it was the only option. She would do it.

~*~

A/N: And you'll just have to wait till next time to find out what happens!

Ah, where would I be without Latin? 'Perninon' is a mangling of 'pernio' meaning chilblain and 'non' meaning not.

And, of course, the eternal litany – REVIEW!!!


	16. Lies

Lies 

**Disclaimer**: J.K. owns them. Not me. Lucky J.K.

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**Replies**: I predict at least 20 chapters, unless things change a lot… possibly more, it depends what my characters decide to do. I manage to update weekly, mainly because I made myself a deadline and last time I was a day late I got lots of messages in my inbox… it involves a lot of stress on Wednesday nights.

**A/N**: *taps nerves on a table and listens to them twang like a tuning fork* Heh. We have coursework in no less than 3 subjects, and ridiculous amounts of homework, and on top of that I'm addicted to roleplay… please excuse this chapter if it's bad quality (whenever I say it is you all disagree with me, so I shall reserve judgement)

~*~

Hermione was having second thoughts.

She hesitated nervously behind one of the ancient bookcases, pretending to scan the titles in front of her and hoping she didn't look too conspicuous. Timidly making her way to the edge of the bookcase, she hardly dared breathe. Because on the other side of the reassuringly opaque wood was the all-to familiar Slytherin, bent over some homework – oblivious to her presence, at least for now.

It had seemed like such a good idea before. Tell him you love him again, and in the ensuing weeks and months you will fall in love with him – after all, you did before. But faced with the stark reality of having to face Draco and tell him such a thing – especially to lie about it – Hermione was feeling decidedly nauseous.

Why didn't she just go back to the common room, forget about this crazy scheme? But again the thought rose up in her mind: did she really want to spend the rest of forever wandering around the lake, trying to figure out how she felt? A watched kettle never boiled, said the adage, and if Hermione kept watching herself, trying to decide when she'd fallen in love again, she never would. 

And she'd promised herself she'd fall back in love: because of curiosity, because of that blank patch of memory that plagued her, because of a deep-buried feeling she still had for Draco, because of a myriad other things. And this was the only way.

And so, ignoring a hundred myriad voices screaming at her not to do this, she stood straight and tall, forced herself to smile, and stepped forward.

'Hi, Draco.' she said, in a slightly high but cheerful voice. 'What's the homework?'

See, she chastised herself, that hadn't been too hard so far. But her heart still beat like thunder: there was still the lie to come…

'Defence against the Dark Arts.' Draco replied gloomily. 'A five-foot essay!'

Hermione, who regularly wrote five feet and more even though the length asked for was far less, gave Draco a sympathetic smile. 'Poor you, how long will that take?'

Draco did something to the nib of his quill, making it announce in a tinny voice 'Two and a half feet written so far.' 

He grimaced. 'Halfway through. I don't know how much longer it should be, perhaps an hour?' He sighed, beginning to roll up the parchment. 'I'll do it later, it isn't due in until next week.'

Hermione nodded, fighting a civil war in which half of her was trying to carry out the plan and the other half was trying to stop it.

After a few seconds, Draco frowned. 'You didn't tell me off for not doing it straight away, Hermione.' He formed a look of mock concern. 'I should take you to Madam Pomfrey, you must be sick!'

Hermione forced a laugh. 'I'm fine.' she said, then convulsively snapped her mouth shut to prevent her saying anything else.

Draco gave her a strange look. 'Alright then, if you say so. I ought to go anyway: we left a spell running in Greenhouse Three and we're supposed to go back to check on it.' He packed his things back into his bag, placing the quill carefully in a side-pocket specifically designed for that purpose, and stood up to leave. 'Bye, Hermione.'

'Wait.' The word was out of her mouth before she could stop it. Draco turned round to face her, and like an actor who has just stepped onto stage, Hermione's nervousness vanished to almost nothing. Now there was nothing to do but run with the script and hope.

'I know I was acting strange just now, and it's because… well, I wanted to talk to you about something but I didn't really know how to say it…' She glanced up at Draco to see how she was doing: his face was as unreadable as it normally was, with the barest expression of interest. She went on.

'I suppose what I wanted to say was that, well, we have been talking a lot for the past weeks and months, and I've been getting quite a lot of memories back, and I really feel that we should…'

Her confidence ran out. She sat, staring at the patterns in the wooden library floor, trying not to blush and waiting for the silence to end. It lasted a thousand eternities. 

'Do you mean…? asked Draco's carefully neutral voice.

'Well, yes. I mean, if you still want to…'

He smiled, almost sarcastically. She wasn't looking at him to see it, but she felt it, heard it.

'Of course I do. But… you are sure about this?'

'Yes.' she said it strongly, willing herself to believe it.

There was another eternity of silence, and then:

'Thank you.' Draco said, very quietly. Before Hermione could question why he'd said that, he had turned and left.

She leaned forward, placing her head back on the table, and let out the breath she'd been holding. So far, so good.

~*~

_'I grow weary of these failures.' said the voice. 'I wish you to act swiftly and precisely. Our agent at Hogwarts is in danger of being discovered. She was careless. I do not allow for mistakes, Lucius.'_

_'Yes, my lord.' came the reply. 'She has, however, been useful in securing information necessary for our plan. And, of course, in keeping us updated on the happenings. She makes a remarkable spy.'_

_'Good. If all goes well, she shall not be punished.' A pause. 'Begin the plan. Prepare everything as soon as you can. I want this over with, and your son brought back into our ranks by whatever means you can use. I do not like those who change sides: it clutters up the playing field. It is better, in a game of chess, to have the pieces black and white, not uncertain shades of grey.'_

_'Indeed, my lord. I shall begin the plan at once.'_

~*~

Draco paced the corridors that led to the Slytherin common room, paying no attention to the familiar patterns of the stone blocks, the play of light and shadow across the grey background. His mind was elsewhere, furiously thinking, working on a very definite problem that lacked a solution.

Perhaps it was something bred into that part of him which made him Slytherin, perhaps he just knew Hermione too well, perhaps he was being paranoid. But as he ran over and over the short yet dramatic scene from the library, he knew that he was right.

Hermione had been lying.

He didn't know what she'd been lying about exactly, but it wasn't hard to guess: she didn't actually love him. The problem that itched his brain was why she had lied.

Certainly she had nothing to gain by telling him that: he had been her enemy, and why would she pretend to love someone she disliked so much? Unless, of course, she was trying to hurt him… the possibility danced in his mind. Was she trying to hurt him, to take revenge?

No, he chided himself, how could he even think that? He was being paranoid, that was all. Hermione wasn't the kind of person who would do that. She was too kind, too caring, too _good_.

But then what?

It could be pity, he mused with a sinking feeling. Pity certainly seemed like a good motive… but would Hermione really do that? Would she really place herself in such a position just because of pity? No: she wouldn't, especially since she'd think that such a lie would hurt him if he found out.

So why? He asked and asked till his brain hurt, but there was no answer.

~*~

Hermione tossed her book to one side. It wasn't that the book was a particularly bad one, but her mind was too full to concentrate on it. It didn't help that she was still sitting here in the library, where she could still see in her mind the recent events: the things she'd said, the things _he'd_ said, the way he'd stood and moved and the sound of his voice. They still seemed to echo off the walls.

She needed to get her mind off the subject; after all, it was no good worrying now. She'd done it, it was over, and there was nothing to do but to charge into the future with head held high.

If she was going to get her mid off the subject and stop worrying, she needed to find someone to talk to. Someone who could take her mind off the subject…

Ditty, she thought with a sudden wave of guilt. Ditty, who she hadn't talked to in days, and who had had that argument with Winky… it seemed like she would need to talk to both of them. Perhaps she could help: either way, she'd get her mind off Draco.

Resolved to her new plan, Hermione pushed herself up from the table, returning her book to the shelf as she passed, and made for the kitchens. It was a long walk, and she had a lot to think about. Fragments of thoughts whirled through hr mind, thoughts about Draco, thoughts about her lie, thoughts about Ditty, Winky and Dobby, and many more.

She was glad to reach the painting and tickle the familiar pear, which giggled, squirmed and let her in. The kitchens were their usual mixture of sumptuous smells and organized chaos: elves running about everywhere, food cooking, ingredients being carted around on trolleys. One of these trolleys, carrying huge baskets of potatoes, went past her, and Hermione caught the attention of the elf who was pushing it.

'Excuse me, do you know where Ditty or Winky are?'

The little elf paused and looked up at her, frowning. 'Why does you want them, miss?'

'They're my friends, and I heard them having a fight yesterday…'

The elf nodded. 'It is the talk of the kitchens, miss! Such fights house elves is not supposed to have, it would make Professor Dumbledore upset. House elves is not wanting to upset their masters!'

Hermione nodded. 'I know. Caould I see them? Are they busy?'

'No.' The elf shook her head emphatically. 'Ditty and Winky is both resting, they were upset from the arguing and their friends makes them rest miss, but Winky is asleep. It was a big fight! Both are upset. Does miss want to see Ditty?'

Hermione nodded, thanked the elf, and followed her to the back of the kitchen. There was a small door here, child-size: it was obviously not intended for humans. Hermione had to bend double to fit through it, and once on the other side she had to hunch over to allow for the low ceiling.

The room, when she saw it, was a beautiful one. It reminded her of the common rooms, but instead of one of the four house colours it was tastefully decorated in white and light pastels. Elf-sized furniture and covered the room, at one end of which French windows opened onto a small grassy outdoor garden.

Her elf guide led her past all this, through another tiny door and up some narrow stairs, to come out in a dormitory, in shades of pastel yellow. It was impeccably neat and tidy, all the beds smoothed and wrinkle-free, except for one about halfway down the room, in which a figure lay.

'Ditty?' Hermione asked, and the little elf propped herself up to look at her.

'Miss Hermione!' she squeaked. Hermione turned to thank the little elf who had brought her here, but she had already left. She turned back instead to Ditty, walking to her bedside.

'Are you alright?' she asked. 'I was walking past the kitchen yesterday and I overheard the argument... what happened?'

Ditty looked woeful. 'Winky and Ditty were arguing over Dobby. Dobby didn't know anything about it… but he heard the argument. Ditty hasn't spoken to him since then… Ditty is afraid he won't even he her friend anymore.'

'Poor you.' Hermione said. 'Although I'm sure he'll still be friends with you, you got on so well… although I don't know who he'll choose, if he chooses anyone.'

'I don't think he'll choose Ditty.' she said glumly.

'Why wouldn't he?'

'How can Dobby ever like Ditty?' she asked, eyes wide. 'Ditty isn't special.'

'You don't have to be special to be loved.' Hermione told her softly. 'You just have to be you.' She paused. 'I remember reading a quote somewhere: To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world.'

Ditty considered this. 'Is that true?' she asked hopefully.

'Who knows? It's up to you to decide.' Hermione replied.

Ditty nodded slowly. 'I think it is true.' She beamed a wide and grateful smile. 'Thank you miss Hermione!'

'Any time.' Hermione smiled back. She paused. 'Do you have a pack of cards? We could play a game to pass the time…'

~*~

**A/N**: Ok, that chapter was pretty bad. In my opinion. Then again, I'm only the author… it's really up to you. So review!


	17. Potions and Plans

Potions and Plans 

**Disclaimer**: It belongs to J.K.Rowling. Enough said.

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**A/N**: As soon as I've posted this I'm going to have to slam my ears in the oven door like Dobby. If I apologised half as much as I want to and listed the reasons why I've been prevented from updating (everything apart from Armageddon itself it seems!) I'd have no room left for the story. And none of you would be that interested anyway.

As its now the holidays, I should be able to write more. And I may try to squeeze in an extra chapter if I have time – no promises though!

Good news: My birthday was a few weeks ago (celebrate!!!). Also, the Russian translation of Fire and Ice won Fic of the Month for March at www.potter.ru! Thanks and hugs to my wonderful translator, Immensity, who is even now translating this one!

And thank you a thousand times to everyone who's shown me their support while I've been having problems. Couldn't have done it without you :)

~*~

'I have _not_ translated it wrongly.' Draco protested, before frowning at the sentence. 'Have I?'

Hermione sighed. 'Yes, you have. Look, you've mixed up the subject of the main clause with the subject of the ablative absolute clause…

'The _what_?' Ron interjected, perplexed.

Hermione waved a hand at Ron irritably. 'It would take too long to explain. Draco, haven't you learned about ablative absolutes? We have a test on them in a fortnight!'

Hermione, Draco, Ron and Harry were sitting around their usual table in the library, doing homework or in the case of Ron, doodling on the corner of a piece of parchment.

'Do we?' Draco asked with a frown.

'Yes!'

'Drat. I didn't know about that.'

Hermione rolled her eyes before digging a stack of parchment out of her bag and pulling out some notes in her meticulous handwriting. 'Here.' She passed them to Draco. 'Ablative absolutes, everything you need to know.'

'Thanks.' replied Draco, and the table lapsed into silence again. It was strange: so little had changed since Hermione told her lie. They still acted just like friends: chattered and did homework and argued and laughed. Nothing had changed.

Except that… once or twice, Hermione had looked up to find Draco giving her a thoughtful, appraising look, as though he were trying to puzzle out a situation. Or, indeed, as though he was puzzling _her_ out. But what was there for him to puzzle out? He knew about her: she was the one who had forgotten him.

But for now, they sat in the library, parchments being gradually filled with ink as the amber sunshine caught the silent dance of the dust in its glowing rays, the moment hanging in time and stretching into forever.

~*~

_I don't know why I'm writing this. If anyone ever found it there'd be hell to pay, and if I had any sense I'd put this quill down and burn the parchment into ashes. But I haven't yet, and I don't think I will now that I've started. Why not burn it when I'm done writing? What difference will it make if there's more ink on the page…_

_That said, I still don't know why I'm writing things down. It's a danger to commit anything to paper. Thoughts are private, and spoken words vanish as soon as they are made – magical interference excepted, of course. But written words can live on, remain for centuries. Verba volant, scripta manent. _

_Hermione said once – when I asked her why anyone would consider keeping such an idiotic thing as a diary – that people liked to write thoughts down. I suppose it is that, in a way. Writing things on paper makes them… tangible, makes them more solid than thoughts. Thoughts have infinity to entangle themselves, while words are confined to the boundaries of ink and parchment, and however much they twist and turn they still must have some semblance of order._

_But of course this is getting off the point. It's no good writing down why I'm writing this accursed thing and then not actually writing it._

_I've been trying all day to figure out what Hermione's trying to do. Why she lied…but the only reasons I can come up with for doing that kind of thing are all cruel, malicious, Slytherin kinds of things. And Hermione's not like that. The only reason I can see is pity, and that wouldn't be a good enough reason for her… then again, she's changed. Everyone does, all the time, but losing memories and regaining them is bound to produce a rather drastic change…Perhaps she isn't even lying. Perhaps she meant it, and I'm just being paranoid._

_I can't think of a reason. I've been thinking about it constantly, and I can't think of one…it's driving me insane._

_I'm going to play along. Pretend I don't know anything about it… pretend I believe her. That way I can see what happens… maybe figure out why she lied. Nothing much has happened so far, after all. And if I didn't pretend to believe her, I'd have to tell her that I knew._

_I hate this. I have to lie to Hermione, and she's lying to me for reasons I can't understand. Life was never meant to be as complicated as this, as though the whole thing were some kind of giant soap opera._

_I hate my father._

~*~

Five minutes later, the parchment was on the freshly lit fireplace, the edges smouldering and curling until finally the whole thing caught alight.

The blond Slytherin watched, his face blank and revealing nothing whatsoever, eyes reflecting nothing but the firelight.

~*~

Almost all of the Gryffindors were in their common room that night, apart from the Quidditch team, who were practicing, a few of their friends who were huddled in the stands watching, and people serving detentions or in the library. The cosy room rung with the sound of voices and laughter, of quills on parchment as homework was done, and the occasional minor explosion.

Hermione sat on a small crimson armchair close to the fire, curled into a ball with the usual thick book on her lap. She seemed nervous, checking her watch every few minutes, reading the same page over and over.

_To complete the Genitive Potion,_ Hermione read, _the roots of a grapevine must be ground to a fine powder and added carefully to the cauldron, stirring continuously, until the potion turns pale blue. On no account add the powder in excess, as the results can be explosive. When the potion has reached the correct shade, allow it to simmer gently for five to ten minutes, after which time the object should begin to float on the surface and the name of its owner should appear (if it is light enough. If not, a simple levitation charm should raise it above the surface of the potion and allow the name to be read)._

Hermione read through the instructions again, biting her lip as she did. She and the three boys were meeting in – she checked her watch – forty three and a half minutes to finish the potion, and then…

Then they'd know who M.B. was. And what then? She doubted they could go to a teacher on such a flimsy piece of evidence as that, but they could be on guard against her, they could collect other more damning evidence…

She sighed, her eyes flicking down the page again, making sure she had the instructions memorised. As though this were some examination, she thought wryly. The powdered grapevine root was already in their hiding place, in a little paper bag near the cauldron. And all that was left now was to finish it…

Her train of thought was cut short when a tapping on the window near her caused conversations close by to falter, and she turned, puzzled, to look out of the window. A large owl was perched on the window ledge in the dark night outside, and she dimly recognised it as Draco's.

Frowning, she opened the window wide enough to let the bird in, sending a freezing draught of air over the room that made people shiver in protest. It looked around almost arrogantly, holding out its leg for Hermione to take the letter before flying away again.

She closed the window and sat back down in the armchair, opening the parchment. She recognised it instinctively as Draco's handwriting, although few of her current memories knew it.

_Hermione,_

_            I cannot say everything I want to here: I fear it would be too dangerous if this owl were intercepted. All I can say is that you are in grave danger, far worse and more immediate than we previously thought._

_I am waiting for you just outside the Hogwarts gate, where it should be safe to talk. The school is too dangerous until we know exactly who our enemies are. Come and meet me there, I am certain there will be no danger waiting on the way tonight. My father expects you (and therefore me) to cling to the school and Dumbledore for safety, and will not expect us to venture outside of it._

_Come as quickly as you can, there is much I have to tell you, and when we are finished we still have to return to the school in time to meet with Ron and Harry and finish the potion. Time is of the essence._

_Draco._

Hermione flicked her eyes through the letter again, almost disbelievingly. But it was Draco's handwriting and Draco's formalised style of letter, and the urgency was clear.

She folded the letter into quarters and, standing up, went to her room to fetch her warm winter cloak. She folded the letter into quarters and left it on her pillow, in case Ron and Harry came looking for her and wondered where she was. Then she wrapped the warm cloak around her and left the room.

~*~

'Good practice, team!' called Fred as they came in to land. He and George had been voted joint captains by the Gryffindors that year, an appointment which had ended up with quite a few of the team suddenly finding Filibuster's Fireworks in their broomsticks at one notorious practice.

Harry landed by the edge of the field, wiping his forehead of sweat despite the icy weather. 'What time is it?' he asked Ron. 'We need to meet Hermione in the common room at ten to…'

'We've got quarter of an hour then.' Ron replied amicably. 'Can we get inside? I'm freezing and I swear I'm getting frostbite.'

'Ron, you're wearing at least two Weasley jumpers on top of each other.' Harry was quick to point out. 'Bit unlikely.'

'Well I'm only wearing one pair of socks.' Ron replied. 'I could get frostbite in my feet.'

'What if you had to have them amputated because of frostbite?' Harry asked thoughtfully, already walking towards the school with his Firebolt tucked under one arm. 'You'd have to go around in a wheelchair… you'd have nothing to walk on.'

'Or get wooden legs.' Ron replied cheerfully.

'Two wooden legs? You'd never be able to balance, you'd fall over.'

Ron thought about this. 'Could use a walking stick.'

'Two walking sticks.'

And in such a line of conversation, they reached the Gryffindor tower, cheeks flushed and teeth chattering from the cold, looking forward to discovering the identity of the mysterious M.B. As soon as they found Hermione.

'Can you see her anywhere?' Harry asked Ron, frowning.

'No, nowhere… maybe she went ahead?' Ron theorised.

'But she said she'd meet us here… maybe she's in her dormitory.' Harry replied, frowning. 'We should at least look.'

They wound their way through the haphazard chairs and sofas, through the continuous babble of conversation, until they reached the staircase and climbed the steep stairs, their muscled already aching before they were halfway up.

Harry knocked on the door of the dormitory before going in. 'Hermione, are you there?' he asked. There was no reply.

'Look inside.' Ron prompted. 'She might have, I dunno, fallen asleep or something…'

Harry cautiously opened the door, peering round. 'Nothing there.' he said. 'She must have gone on without us… wait, I think there's something on her bad.'

'Might be a note.' Ron said, going into the room and picking up the parchment.

'Are you sure you should be reading that?' Harry asked, as Ron read through the letter. Harry hovered in the doorway, not sure whether to enter or not.

'I think she left it here for us to find…' said Ron, looking worried. 'It explains where she is… read it, it sounds important.'

Harry read the letter with an increasing frown. 'What do you think is wrong?' he asked. Ron shrugged. 'Oh well, at least she's safe.' He folded the letter with a crackle of parchment, and put it back in his pocket.

'Lets go, they'll be waiting.'

~*~

Draco waited in the semi-darkness, keeping an eye on the cauldron, which was obeying the laws of mysterious potion and going 'gloop' occasionally.

'Where are those Gryffindors…' he said in a half-whisper, brushing his fine hair out of his face and sitting down on the floor, leaning on the rough wall. 'Trust them to be late!' he said, with none of the malice of former years but with a kind of half-amused amicableness.

An entire minute later, Ron and Harry burst through the door.

'Sorry we're late, took us ages to figure out where you were, Hermione, and what…' Ron said, before looking round the room. 'Where's Hermione?' he asked, puzzled.

'She was supposed to be coming with you.' Draco replied

'But it said in your letter…' Harry began, before a sudden feeling of dread gripped Draco.

'What letter?' he asked sharply.

'The one you sent to Hermione…' Harry replied, beginning to catch on that something was wrong.

'What did it say?' Draco asked, getting swiftly to his feet. 'What did it _say_?'

Wordlessly, Harry pulled the letter out of his pocket, handing it to him. Draco read it, his face paling.

'Oh, _no_…' he whispered. 'Hermione, you fool…'

~*~

A/N: Sorry. I'm evil, I know, and I will boil my fingers in tomato soup as soon as I've used them to write the rest of the story.

The usual bits of Latin: Ablative absolutes are irritating bits of Latin grammar that don't appear in English. For example: '**The battle having been lost**, the survivors went home.' The bit in bold is an ablative absolute. They're my Latin teacher's favourite clause, so Ms. Holden, this is for you!

'Verba volant, scripta manent' A Latin proverb: Words fly, writing remains. I have this on a magnet!

So, what will happen next… Where is Hermione? If Draco didn't send that letter, who did? Are we ever going to find out who M.B. is???

Yes, we will… next Wednesday, and if I don't update, you have full permission to send packs of slavering wolves to hunt my down and tear me to shreds!


	18. Bleed

Bleed 

**Disclaimer**: Not mine. J.K.Rowling's.

**Thanks** for 854 reviews go to: Red Magic Marker, kei-chan, Dragonsbane, The Elfin Child, Hgluv (x2), BritishBeauty, HP1fan, willowwiccantara, KrystyWroth, ~* paper star *~, hyper_shark, Akida Lupin, aku-neko, MoonDancerCat, willowfairy, Zubie, xxmidnightkissesxx, Katt (x2), draconas, Angel: da Newsies fan, Saotoshi, Courtney (x2), CrysMaul, saj aneri, Yousei Kaijou, WormmonABC, JoeBob1379 (x2), mya14 (x2), AznGurl, Mutsumi, Ash (x2), KAOS, SunLight, glittergirl, The Fire Goddess (x2), leepy took, QuOtAtA, Lucent Dusk (x2), SolaStar, Aerin Brown (x2), Krissy (x2), Gabie, Dragon Bad Faith, Chrissy, Flexi Lexi, pupulupk, *karly* 

**Question**s: Draco couldn't 'feel' that Hermione was in danger because it only works when she is actually physically harmed. As she was still walking down the Hogwarts drive at that point, she wasn't actually in physical danger. Fred and George are one year above the others (I think!) so it would be their seventh year. I don't know of any online translators of Latin, but I'll translate for anyone that needs it – my e-mail's on my profile.

**A/N**: Alright! I got home after my I.T. mock and realised that apart from revising for the real thing or working on coursework that's due in a few weeks from now, I had absolutely nothing to do. So I got down to some really serious chapter finishing for all you lovely, wonderful people out there…

And its actually one I'm fairly pleased with!

The 'Character's Note' is gone, but not forever! Due to popular request, I'm going to upload it as a separate story… and probably extend it slightly as well.

Read and enjoy…

~*~

The sun was setting as Hermione slipped outside into the fresh air, carefully closing the main front doors behind her. No one noticed her leave. Anyone who had would have taken no notice. It was common enough for a student to take an evening walk through the grounds, after all.

Pulling her winter cloak closer around her in an attempt to stay warm, Hermione set off down the driveway. It was strangely silent. No birds sang. No people shouted. There was just the wind, blowing a death shriek through the trees, and the hollow sound of her footsteps. She shivered.

_I am certain there will be no danger waiting on the way tonight. _That was what Draco had said in his letter, wasn't it? And she trusted that. If he said there wasn't danger, there wouldn't be… He wouldn't put her into danger. Would he? No, no, she knew him better than that.

So why did she feel afraid?

It had to be the eerie atmosphere. It was like something out of a movie: the sun glowing blood red as it sank, the screaming wind, the strange, unnatural silence… Also, she was probably worried about Draco's letter.

_All I can say is that you are in grave danger. _But what was the danger, and how had it worsened? Why did he want to talk to her immediately, so far outside the school building?

_The school is too dangerous until we know exactly who our enemies are._ His words sounded ominous and urgent, and while she didn't know what the trouble was, she did trust him. He… loved her, as strange an idea as that once had been, and he wouldn't lead her into danger.

His letter had been irritatingly secretive and lacked any kind of information, but then again… _it would be too dangerous if this owl were intercepted._ He'd tell her everything when she reached him, and she would only have to wait a little more…

The gates loomed ahead, towering as though they possessed a malevolent sapience. They seemed to radiate coldness, sending goosebumps racing across Hermione's skin. As she reached them, she saw that one stood slightly ajar, the gap just wide enough to let her slip through.

Even the wind fell suddenly silent, and she looked around, realising there was no one there.

'Draco?' she asked, puzzled.

And then everything went black.

~*~

'What?' Ron asked, frowning.

Draco looked up at them, his throat going dry. He swallowed. 'I didn't write this.'

The two Gryffindors frowned. 'What do you mean?' Harry asked. 'If you didn't write it, who did?'

'Oh come on, it's not hard.' Draco replied, the sudden icy fear making him sarcastic. 'Who do we know who wants to kill Hermione? Who's tried to get her out of Hogwarts before?'

'Your father.' Harry replied, frowning and rubbing his scar. 'But we don't know it's him…'

'Who else could it be?' Draco snapped, surprising even himself with his vehemence. 'Think about it!'

He slammed the letter down on the nearest table, glaring balefully at it and reading it through again. It was his handwriting, his manner of letter writing… The words seemed to mock him, laugh at him, as they sat innocently on the paper. Just ink on parchment and a simple spell to make it look like his handwriting. A tool. A tool, designed to lure Hermione away from the safety of the school.

To lure her to her death.

'I'm going after her.' he said quietly, straightening. He folded the letter twice and shoved it roughly into his pocket.

'So are we.' said Ron bravely, in a typical Gryffindor moment, and Harry nodded his agreement.

'No, you're not.' Draco said, turning to face them, his silver eyes blazing. 'This is between me and my father.'

'Hermione's our friend too…' Harry began.

'I've got to do this alone.' Draco interrupted him. He didn't know why he didn't want their help. If he was rescuing Hermione from his father he could use all the help he could get. But… he was angry. 'I'm sick of this. I'm sick of him trying to control my life, trying to force me to be something I'm not. Telling me who my friends should be, what my future should be, what I should _think_…' he trailed off bitterly.

There was momentary silence.

'We're still coming.' Ron said adamantly. 

'Whatever you say.' Harry added a little more gently. 'We want to save Hermione as much as you do.'

'You're not coming.' Draco repeated. 'And we don't have time to argue this out. _Hermione_… doesn't have time.'

'You can't stop us.' Ron pointed out.

'Can't I?' Draco asked. Without a backwards glance, he left the room, slamming the door behind him.

When Harry and Ron raced to the door a second later, he had vanished.

~*~

Fifteen minutes later, Draco slammed the heavy front door of Hogwarts behind him and ran out into the falling twilight. The sky was an ominous colour – not black, but the darkest shade of purple imaginable. The moon was a thin crescent, a sliver of light in the sky, but the stars as always shone in their familiar constellations.

Two silhouettes cut their path through the heavens, easily recognisable: two boys on broomsticks, heading approximately in the direction of Malfoy Manor. He hadn't really expected them to stay behind, but then again it somehow didn't matter.  He'd be there long before them anyway. And, he added grudgingly, he'd probably be grateful for their help before the night was over.

Most of this reasoning was going on in a tiny proportion of his mind where sanity, common sense and the part of him that made him Slytherin had retreated. The rest of him was an incomprehensible storm of emotion – anger, fear, worry, panic, dread, and a thousand others.

The race across the grounds seemed to take forever. Minutes stretched into eternities, and every second the chaos of thoughts and feelings inside him swirled faster, screamed louder, growing from a storm to a whirlwind to a ceaseless indefinable thing. The multitude of shouts and screams and fears and hopes and panic and anger and hate and love were slowly crashing together, mixing and blending and becoming one. So many were there that they merged into a single entity, like a crowd of people who shout with one voice, move in one action, united in one purpose.

Driven by this intoxicating cocktail, the Slytherin raced across the grounds, a streak of silver hair atop death-black robes. He didn't pause until he reached the towering gate, stopping a fumbling instant to open it and racing through.

There was no one there.

But there, on the ground, in the dirt: the faint signs of recent footprints. And here the dust was scattered, scuffed, as though… as though someone had fallen, knocked unconscious with a Stupefy. And then more footprints, two pairs, leading from the bushes to the fallen body. And nothing more.

It took him perhaps a second to process this information in the tiny bubble of sanity left of him, and when he realised what had happened – he had been too late to stop them taking her – it was but fuel for the fires of madness. Why? demanded the insane voices as one emotion. Why her? Why me? Why is he doing this? Why did I fall in love? If I hadn't, she'd have been safe and happy and I wouldn't be going through this, I'd still be following my father's orders and for years that was enough, it worked…

But, replied the tiny bubble of calm and sanity, I wouldn't have been happy.

Overpowered for the moment, the insane swirl receded to a dull roar, ready to return at an instant's notice. Outwardly calm, composed, Draco reached into his pocket. In which, minutes earlier, he'd carefully placed his father's letter. The one, that, an eternity ago, he'd used as a lure for his son. The one that had also lured Hermione to follow him to the Manor. The one that had resulted in Hermione's loss of memory.

The one that was enchanted as a Portkey to Malfoy Manor.

He placed his hand in his pocket and vanished.

~*~

Hermione awoke in a rich and vibrant room. The walls were painted a deep forest green, covered with paintings in gaudy golden frames and, displayed above the fireplace of a delicate green marble, a crossed pair of wickedly sharp swords. The windows were full length, surrounded by dark green velvet drapes. The room was almost empty of furniture save for a few chairs and tables of exquisite quality.

However, the first thing she saw was the floor she was lying on: a decadently thick Persian rug. Dazed, her eyes followed its colours, trying to work out the logic behind the pattern of the border.

And landed on a pair of feet.

The feet were wearing black leather shoes, elegantly styled and top-quality, but with no excesses of any kind. No patterning where none was necessary, nothing there that hadn't been carefully considered. They screamed wealth, but at the same time they were cold, impeccably clean but without personality.

As if drawn by magnets, Hermione's eyes travelled upwards, upwards to the face looking down at her with the same expression with which one would look at a slug before smothering it with salt. Disgust, mingled with a cold and scientific interest.

Lucius Malfoy.

'Hermione Granger, the Mudblood.' he said with contempt. 'We meet again.'

She blinked up at him, adjusting with shock to her immediate environment, the memory of what had happened returning.

'You kidnapped me.' she spat. 'You'll never get away with this.'

'That statement was a little clichéd, don't you think?' he asked, holding his wand up to his eye line and examining the wood. 'I can assure you that I will. And as to kidnapping you, what a ridiculous notion. You wandered into the Forbidden Forest late one night and were torn to pieces by the animals within. You were so deep within the forest – how long did it take to find your body, I wonder? Weeks, months, years?' He smiled, a cruel half smile, and his eyes glittered malevolently. 'Such a tragedy.'

She shook her head. 'Draco will know what you've done, Harry and Ron too. I left the letter on my pillow for them to find. They'll know it was you. They can put spells on it, find out who wrote it…'

'Of course, the letter.' He began to twirl the wand slowly in his fingers. 'Such an incriminating piece of evidence. Which even now, our little operative at Hogwarts is burning into dust.' He paused, turning his gaze from the wand back to Hermione. 'The Genitive potion, I believe you were making? A clever idea, I must admit. Such a shame you'll never find out what the potion would have revealed…'

So this was it. She was going to die. Strangely, she didn't feel upset or angry, just… regretful. She'd never take her NEWTs now. She'd never get a job, or get married. She'd never see her parents or her friends again… not Harry, not Ron. And Draco. She'd never… well, there were a lot of nevers there. She'd never fall in love with him again. Never, never, never.

'If you're going to kill me, do it now.' she said dully. 'Avada Kedavra, I'd be dead in an instant…'

'But why let it span an instant, when it could so easily take longer?' he asked, his smile cruel, cold. His eyes flashed, his wand flicked. 

'Sanguinem Funde!'

~*~

Draco's feet hit the cold stone floor of the corridor. He straightened, tense, his nerves jangling. This part of the Manor must be Lucius' private wing: he didn't recognise it, and the only other time he'd been in here was when Hermione lost her memory…

With a jerk sudden as an electric shock, he could feel the tingle and burn of Hermione's pain, the desperate urging tug towards her. But before his foot even hit the ground there was a scream, a soul-wrenching, heart-stopping shriek. He span, the emotions within him flaring, each vying for their place in his fear-fuelled panic. He ran without thinking, ran in the direction of the scream, a jolt running straight through him as he heard the scream cut off suddenly, the echo of her pain increasing until he winced in sympathy…

He burst through a door, coming face to face with the hideous sight before him. His father stood, smiling smugly, cruelly, maliciously, his wand raised. And on the floor, crumpled at his feet, a smaller figure, white skin, brown hair, red blood… The eyes were closed, the body unmoving…

Hermione. Dead.

~*~

A/N: The cliffhangers keep getting worse don't they? What happened? Is Hermione really dead, or is Draco jumping to conclusions… Shall I reveal a piece of information? Alright: Someone will die in the next chapter. Who? Not telling!

Latin translations: 'Sanguinem Funde!' literally means 'Shed Blood!' and is the nearest equivalent to saying 'Bleed!'

What more can I say but: Review!


	19. Hate and Love

Hate and Love

**Disclaimer**: Characters and places belong to J.K. Rowling. Sorry for damaging one of them… but no one will notice if you prop him up and use a string to move his mouth!

**Thanks** for 896 reviews go to: willowfairy, JoeBob1379, Hessie Elite, The Elfin Child, Amythest Teardrops, Silindro, mutsumi, pupulupk, ~* paper star *~, Sunsine, hyper_shark, Rage, Yousei Kaijou, Lulu81, Deimos, Ash, willowfairy, WolfShadow, jkathyt (happy belated birthday!), Rebecca, Queen Li, Wormmon ABC, Draco Improbus, Beboots, Sparkle-eyed Dreamer, animegirl-mika, mya14, plumsy321, Gabie, Krissy, a, Scarlet, The katt, The Floor Boards, christie, trillium, AznGurl, KAOS, MoonDancerCat, Hermione(x2), kei-chan!

**A/N**: I'm only a day late. You can forgive me a day, can't you? This chapter is a Very Important one, and as per usual I dislike it.

Other news in the world of cyropi: I got my I.T. mock exam mark back, and I'm predicted an A*! Celebrate with me! my actual proper GCSE exam is on the 20th, wish me luck! And those of you that don't know what GCSE's are: big scary exams you take when you're 16 (but our school makes us take one a year early!)

Enough about me, onto the chapter!

~*~

For a heartbeat the world was still, silent as death. In that one timeless, endless moment every detail of the room seemed to stand out like a knife-edge: the texture of the walls, the patterns in the wooden furniture, the colour in the carpet, burning themselves into his mind so he would never, never forget this moment.

But above all else was the ghastly, horrifying sight at the centre of it all: Hermione's blood staining the carpet, her body crumpled and scarred, her skin pale and her eyes shut as though sleeping, but she wasn't asleep, she was…

He didn't deny the fact – had never denied the truth – but what his eyes saw was too immense to take in. Hermione, dead. He simply stood and stared, unable to comprehend it, empty of any feeling inside. It was something impossible that couldn't have happened, because when he'd decided to leave the world of evil and Death Eaters behind him his new world had been built around Hermione. Hermione's death was the end of his whole world.

And Hermione was dead.

All at once the emptiness was filled – no transition stage between empty and full, but the instantaneous change like the flick of a switch. What had been nothing was now burning rage to rival the fires of hell itself, fury and anger, ferocity and wrath that filled every corner of his being, leaving no room now for even the merest scrap of sanity.

And the berserk fury demanded payment. It wanted revenge.

Silver eyes blazing, he reached up above the nearby fireplace and seized the hilt of one of the crossed swords, dragging it from its place. He span to face his father, weapon in hand, mind on only the loss and the thirst for bloody vengeance, and ran at him. Lucius' smirk barely had time to change to a look of surprise – an expression he rarely showed – before the sword moved in Draco's hand like quicksilver, pushed on by the weight of his run and the force of his anger, and pierced Lucius through the heart.

His expression didn't change as his corpse fell to the floor, frozen in the instant of changing from smirk to shock. Draco, carried on by his momentum, fell to the floor beside him. He was sweating and panting from the all-consuming rage, which, lacking a focus, dissipated.

He kept his head bent, eyes closed, empty again as he tried to accept another unimaginable thing. His father, dead. His father, who had domineered over him since his birth, was dead. His father, who he had respected and feared, then hated and feared, was dead. Killed by his own hand. There was a word for killing your father, what was it? Patricide. Yes, he thought dimly, he'd committed patricide.

~*~

'Face it, Harry.' Ron said in a glum voice. 'We're lost.'

Harry frowned, slightly damp from the drizzle of rain that they'd flown through, and shook his head.

'We're going to find her.' he said confidently.

Ron appeared pessimistic. 'This place is huge.' he pointed out. 'And we don't know our way around. She could be anywhere. It would take weeks to search this whole place.' He sighed, leaning against a wall with his broomstick in hand and probably ruining the expensive looking wallpaper. 'Perhaps we should go back to school, get Dumbledore or someone…'

'No.' Harry replied simply. 'It would be too late.'

Ron groaned. 'Look, Draco's looking for her, and since this is actually his house he stands a far better chance of finding her than we do. And you know he wouldn't let her be hurt. And it would do Hermione far much more good if we went to Dumbledore…'

'I'm not giving up. We're going to find her.' Harry said firmly, choosing a random direction and walking in it. Ron had to practically jog along side him to keep up. Harry's face was set, eyes sparking with determination.

'It's not giving up, Harry, it's bloody common sense!' he tried to argue. 'We aren't doing her any good at all by charging round this bloody place and getting ourselves lost forever in some festering dungeon.'

'We won't get lost forever.' he replied quite calmly. 'And we won't give up.'

Ron groaned, despairing of ever winning the argument, and spent his energy in trying to keep up with his friend.

The corridors of Malfoy Manor were long and usually featureless. No tapestries or paintings hung on the walls: there were only the unrelenting mahogany floorboards with their thick carpet runner down the middle, and the grey stone walls which arched together at the top. There weren't even any windows, unless their path took them close to the outside of the manor. As rescue parties went, it was an extremely dull one.

The only relief from Harry's punishing pace was when he stopped to open a door and examine the room inside, and Ron soon found himself trailing. He didn't want to ask Harry to go slower: he was worried about Hermione as well, and wanted to find her as much as Harry did. It was a relief of sorts, therefore, when Harry stopped short in the middle of a dim corridor.

'Did you hear that?' he asked, frowning. His hand strayed instantly to his wand.

'Hear what?' Ron wheezed.

Harry shook his head. 'I swore I heard footsteps…' He trailed off, and as if on cue there was the soft pad of feet on carpet, the quiet creak of a floorboard.

'It might be Hermione!' he whispered excitedly. 'Come on!' He set off in the direction of the noise as fast as possible, Ron following with a new hope and new strength.

The rounded the corner together and stopped dead.

In front of them was a tall blond woman holding a wand pointed directly at them in one hand. She wore an unmistakably Malfoy sneer, and seemed to be looking at them as though they were lower than slugs.

'If you move a muscle,' she threatened in a low voice, 'I'll curse you with every Dark curse I know.' Then her eyes widened, focusing on Harry's scar, and she gasped audibly.

'Harry Potter!'

Both boys tried to grab their wands surreptitiously, but she shouted, 'Accio wands!' and they could only watch in horror as their last line of defence flew to her hand.

'Petrificus Totalus.' she said with a smirk, watching gleefully as both boys fell to the ground, unable to move. 'The famous Harry Potter, captured by Narcissa Malfoy.' she said, the words rolling off her tongue like a dream. 'Lucius _will_ be pleased… and Voldemort too, of course. The Death Eater that brings him The Boy Who Lived will be honoured above all others. And that,' she added briskly, 'will be me. Mobilicorpus!'

Horror gripped both boys' hearts as they rose into the air in front of her, totally powerless.

~*~

Nothingness. Absolute nothingness, pure and empty, so peaceful, so restful. She was vaguely aware, if she thought, of a world outside this one, a world of light and pain… but thinking was an alien and foreign concept, and reality was a distant dream, as muddled and vague as the stories she'd read as a tiny child.

The tiny speck of dim consciousness which was Hermione floated, drifted through the dark and empty world, neither fully alive nor dead. But gradually things began to penetrate the darkness of her world: sound, sensation, light, until her consciousness rose upwards, out of the darkness, to reality.

There was light filtering through her eyelids, and the dull sensation of pain. Her skin was covered in something warm and sticky, and a coppery metallic taste filled her mouth. She swallowed, trying to get rid of the taste, and a voice spoke.

'Hermione?'

It was a half-whisper, laced with a hope that didn't dare let itself exist. With an effort, she dragged her eyes open a crack, squeezing them shut again as the light and colour hurt her eyes, before forcing them to open fully.

Everything around her was blurred, a mess of too-vivid colour. Above her was a jumble of light and shadow that looked like a face, twisted in worry and concern and hope… it was familiar somehow. She blinked, trying to place it. Silver hair, pale skin… even the shape and angles of the features were inherently recognisable.

She smiled feebly, recognising him with a glow of happiness. 'Draco…' she replied.

'You're alive?' he breathed, and she felt his hand touch hers as if he expected it to turn to mist. She curled her fingers stiffly around his hand.

'Alive.' she agreed, closing her eyes again against the painful lights and colours. 'I am alive…'

She felt his arms curl around her, pulling her upright, hugging her tight to him. 'Alive.' he repeated, his voice cracking. 'Alive…'

The nothingness was so inviting, so welcoming, dragging her back into its warm embrace. And why shouldn't she let it… Draco was here, she would be safe. Draco. She smiled. Draco…

'Love you.' she whispered as she fell back into unconsciousness. Because with her mind dimmed and her memories a vague muddle, memory charms and lies and the past didn't matter. All that mattered was what she truly felt, when almost all her mind was faded and burnt away by the pain, claimed by unconsciousness. What she felt regardless of memories and spells.

_Love you…_

~*~

It was a horrible experience, being floated through the air to what was realistically their doom. The body-bind prevented them even from struggling, from fighting back, from moving at all. They could only stare straight ahead – at the ceiling – and imagine the hideous fate awaiting them.

After what felt like an eternity, they stopped. Where they had stopped, the boys didn't know: they could see a cream ceiling and the corner of an ornate light fitting, and nothing more.

Narcissa knocked on the door. 'Lucius? I have a… surprise for you. A surprise it's worth pausing in your torture for, I promise.'

There was no reply.

'Lucius?' she called again, frowning. 'Can I come in?'

After a few seconds of silence, there was the sound of a door opening, and they were levitated gently over the threshold, fear churning in their stomachs. Narcissa followed.

The sound of a woman's scream pierced the thickly silent air – Hermione? they thought desperately – but no, it was from behind them, from Narcissa…

She fell to the floor with a thump, in a dead faint, and without the support of her wand so did both the boys. They lay in an agony of not knowing, unable even to turn their head and look into the room. Was Hermione alright? Was she injured? What… what was there to make Narcissa scream and faint like that?

A low voice spoke. 'Finite Incantatem.' Their muscles once again fell under their control. Sitting up stiffly, they looked around the room.

In one corner, with a sword through his crimson-soaked chest and a look of slight surprise frozen on his face, was Lucius Malfoy. In the approximate middle, Draco was cradling an unconscious and bleeding Hermione, looking at them with a slightly lost expression.

Ron did the only sensible thing in such a situation, and swore quietly.

~*~

Coming up: There will be romance, and there will also be an M.B. But only if you read next week!

Reviews are always welcome!!!


	20. Snake's Venom

Snake's Venom 

**Disclaimer**: The charries and places here belong to J.K. Rowling. Not me!

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**A/N:** Apologies for the lateness! First of all I had a proper IT GCSE exam, then a 'surprise holiday' at my sisters' where they have no internet (the horror… *shakes*) So it's been difficult. The exam went ok, and I'm getting the results late August. If I utterly vanish from the face of the earth around then, you know why. Oh, and since someone asked I'll say it again: GCSE's are government exams. Important ones. Ones that go on job and university applications.

Another reason I've been busy is that I'm soon going to be creating a website for my fics, poems and original stories. I'm hoping to do a lot of work on it shortly, so I'll bring you more information next chapter…

Anyway, onto the story.

~*~

'I ought to feel bad about it, I suppose. Guilty. But I don't, and I'm not going to pretend I do. What would be the point? I'm glad he's dead, I'm glad I killed him… and I'd do it again.'

Draco said this with a hint of defiance in his voice and a harsh glint in his eye, a glint which would have made anyone seeing him remember, dimly, a similar look in the eyes of his late father. Only slightly similar, of course, but the resemblance was there.

However, there was no one to notice the resemblance, or at least no one awake. Draco was sitting in the hospital wing of Hogwarts, by an unconscious Hermione's bed. She didn't look alive, but she was. Her skin was as white as the hospital sheets she was wrapped in, and she barely seemed to breathe at all unless he watched closely.

With a small sigh, he stopped himself from worrying and continued to talk. 'Anyway… It seems like everything that happened after I killed Lucius was a blur… I really did think you were dead, you looked it… You still do now. I remember my mother screaming, and Harry and Ron had got there somehow – by broomstick, but I didn't think of that at the time. It felt like a dream, or a nightmare. People always appear from nowhere in dreams, after all. I think a part of me kept wondering when I'd wake up in the Slytherin dormitory…'

He stopped himself with a snort. 'I apologise, I'm rambling. And I shouldn't. Slytherins don't ramble. I'd just… I don't want to sit here in silence.' Which was strange, considering that the Slytherin common room was never noisy with the laughter and chatter of friends. But silence was uncomfortable around Hermione, he didn't know why… there was something about her that made him want to talk to her. So he did.

'Anyway… if you can hear me – which I doubt – you probably want to know what happened. Harry and Ron could probably give you a better account; I don't know everything that happened… My mother was screaming, I already mentioned that, didn't I? Someone called the Ministry in, it was probably her but I didn't see her do it… My concentration was elsewhere, I'm afraid. The whole manor was suddenly swarming with officials, one of them hit me with the Stupefy curse – presumably on the grounds that I was suspected of being a dangerous psychopath.'

He paused, with a half-smile on his face as though the thought both amused and hurt him. 'I woke up at the Ministry buildings in London. Dumbledore was there, and I really thought I was going to get sent to Azkaban or something… but apparently he'd managed to get enough evidence to prove that I was acting in self-defence, or in defence of you, or some legal loophole anyway. They proved he was a Death Eater – it wasn't hard – and that he'd been torturing you. We collected all the evidence that he'd been threatening you, all his letters and things. Oh, and we found out who M.B. was. We've got a plan to get evidence against her, I thought it up. It's very, very cunning, but then again you could have guessed that it would be. I'll tell you all about it in detail.

He glanced at his watch, and his face fell. 'Well, I would, but I'm supposed to be there in one minute and it's on the other side of the castle. Damn.' He jumped out of his seat and grabbed his schoolbag, but paused to look at Hermione. 'I forgot to tell you who she was, didn't I? Mandy Brocklehurst. She's in Ravenclaw.'

He smiled, a wide smile that looked alarmingly out of place on a Malfoy's face. 'Get better _soon_.' he insisted, before turning away, racing out of the hospital wing and through the twisting corridors of Hogwarts.

~*~

Five minutes later, Draco, Harry and Ron were waiting just inside a small, empty storeroom, which led onto the corridor of the Charms classroom. The storeroom was filled with various items for Professor Flitwick's classes – feathers, pillows, socks, shoes, spare textbooks, and myriads of other items strewn carelessly around the place.

If the boys listened carefully, they could hear the faint noise of the Charms class chanting their latest spell in unison, and the thin strains of the professor correcting them – 'No, no, no! It's a long e, like this: Eeeeeeeeeee' This sounded so exactly like a small mouse that the whole class burst into laughter, which Professor Flitwick had a hard time stopping.

The laughter soon turned to the moans of students receiving homework and the surreptitious packing away of wands and pencil cases in order to be first out of the lesson – always important, as the first out of one classroom was the first into the next, and could therefore grab the best seat at the back. Draco's hand tightened on his wand.

'Remember, I'm going to do all the talking.' he said softly, and his eyes glittered dangerously for an instant.

'Yes, yes, because we're Gryffindors and we'll mess it up. We've heard it all before.' Ron replied, looking irritated, but the corner of Harry's mouth twitched. Draco glanced towards him with a look of surprised amusement, his fierce expression fading at Ron's unexpected comment.

'Actually, I didn't mean…' he began, but was cut off by the tumult of students who began to pour out of the Charms classroom, and their attention was diverted to something more important than their old argument. If this went wrong, it could wreak the entire plan… and Mandy would be onto them.

Fortunately, she was walking fairly close to the wall, near the back of the group. Her bag was of a size to rival Hermione's, her eyes were similarly brown – though quite a bit darker – and her hair was the same length, but blond and straight. Draco's sharp eyes picked out her arrogant walk, the cunning in her eye, and the way she held her left arm – the arm on which, he was sure, the Dark Mark was imprinted.

He reached out casually, grabbed her upper arm, and yanked her forcefully into the storeroom. She cried out, reflexively pulling away from him, but Harry had already slammed the door shut and locked it.

Mandy shook her arm out of Draco's and stepped back, away from the boys. 'Let me go.' she commanded authoritatively. 'Now, or I'll report this to the headmaster.'

At the word 'headmaster', Draco's cold grey eyes flickered uneasily to the corner of the room, where there was a curiously blank space amongst the boxes. It was only a glance, barely noticeable, and his attention was soon back on Mandy. The cruel, cold Slytherin part of him – it would always be there – took out its shining, razor-edged tools and went to work.

'But what for?' he asked silkily – but the silk held a threat, a menace. 'Have I done anything wrong? All I wanted to do was return this.'

He held up the white quill with her initials on it, twisting it gently in front of his eyes, pretending to examine it closely but letting his gaze fall on her instead. Ho one else would have noticed, but her muscles twitched, and now she looked afraid. She knew what was coming.

'I've never seen that quill in my life before.' she insisted. 'You've made a mistake.'

Draco smiled. 'Oh, I think not. We tested it. It's most certainly yours..' He paused, savouring the moment like fine wine. Mandy was uncomfortable now. The prey was fleeing the hunter, twisting and turning, but there was no way out. The trap was ready to spring…

'An interesting quill.' he commented. 'With an interesting story. You know, I found it right next to the scene of an attack on Hermione Granger? I'm sure there's a good reason it was there. A very interesting reason. Why don't you tell us?'

Mandy shook her head impatiently. 'My bag had a hole in and it fell out as I was walking down the corridor.' she told him. 'Not very interesting at all, is it?'

Draco raised an eyebrow. There was a power to this, an easy, sleek and cunning power, the power of a snake as it stalks its prey. It was so easy, so simple, so fun. He was enjoying it. Enjoying the Slytherin feeling of watching his opponent being forced into a corner, the joy of the hunt… the kill…

'Really?' he asked. 'I was under the impression it was dropped by an agent of Voldemort. Which of course, I would never suspect you of being. I suppose you should go to your next lesson, then. But first, let me see your left forearm.'

'No.' She started back, hand clamped over her sleeve.

'Why not?' he asked. 'It would set my mind at rest that it wasn't you. What harm could it do? Unless, of course, you really have the Dark Mark… which is plainly unthinkable.'

She shook her head. 'You can't make me…'

'Can't I?' He stepped forward with the fluid motion of the snake making his strike, grabbed her sleeve and pulled it upwards, to reveal…

The Dark Mark.

There was a moment of absolute silence.

'I'd like to know,' Draco said, and now his voice had a more menacing undertone, 'just what you've been doing.'

'I haven't been doing anything.' she pleaded. 'I was forced… against my will… my parents…'

'Stop acting, it doesn't work on me.' he spat, venom filling his eyes. 'Why. That's all I want to know. Why.'

Her entire face changed as though she'd thrown off a mask. Her pleading, frightened eyes hardened, froze over, like ice. She stood straighter and taller, becoming almost as intimidating a sight as Draco.

'And all I've ever wanted to know about you was why not. Why, Draco, why did you turn away from him? There's nothing to be gained by fighting on the Mudbloods' side. Nothing to gain, everything to lose. You could have been great, had power many of us can only dream of… you were a fool, an idiot to leave him.'

His eyes narrowed. 'I'd never work for him. Never. I've seen where that leads, and it leads to… to hate and nothing. Why have power when you aren't happy?'

'Power makes you happy.' Mandy replied simply. For some reason, Draco almost shuddered, but stopped himself.

'So, you worked for Voldemort. What did you do?'

Mandy shrugged. 'What you've seen. Carry messages, send lures to get that Mudblood brat whose caught your eye out of the school…'

Draco's blood boiled at her description of Hermione, but he kept himself calm. 'And it was you who attacked her? On Voldemort's orders?'

'Yes.' she hissed. 'He decided she was no longer useful in trying to control you… she was a pest to your father's plans. I would have killed her if you hadn't stopped me. I wish I had. One less filthy Mudblood…'

Draco almost attacked her, his eyes flashing, wand lifting and mouth opening to pronounce one of the nastier dark curses he knew, but a voice cut into their talk.

'Thank you for that, Miss Brocklehurst.' Dumbledore said gravely, removing Harry's Invisibility Cloak from around himself and Professor Snape. 'I believe that evidence will be enough to convict you before a Ministry court. I only wish I had known sooner…'

Mandy's expression turned to one of shock. 'But… but how? You can't prove anything, there's no way of taking anything I just said outside this room. And they'll never convict me on the word of a… a barmy old idiot like you!'

'Wrong, Miss Brocklehurst.' Shape said softly, holding up his wand. 'Aperi Memoria Virgae.'

A thin cone of light spread out from the end of his wand, revealing a perfect miniature of the room they stood in, just like a Muggle film. It began just as Harry slammed the door behind Mandy, whose recorded form pulled away from Draco and again demanded, 'Let me go. Now, or I'll report this to the headmaster…'

Snape flicked his wand, and the vision faded. 'It's all recorded, Miss Brocklehurst.' he told her. 'Every last word.'

'And now, we are going to my office.' Dumbledore told her, looking weary and grave. 'I presume your parent's don't know? Well, they shall have to be told. And then, the Ministry, of course. I can only hope they shall be lenient…

He led a pale and shocked Mandy away. Snape followed, but paused a moment to glance at Draco with a peculiar look in his eye. 'A very impressive intimidation, Mr. Malfoy…' he said. Draco, without knowing quite why, shuddered.

~*~

**A/N**: Half of you guessed who M.B. was. BAD REVIEWERS!!! You aren't supposed to figure out the mysterious M.B… *sob*

Anyway, Latin translations: 'Aperi Memoria Virgae' literally means, 'Reveal the memory of the wand.' The idea is that this is a spell which allows wizards and witches to use their wand like a sort of video camera. Presumably there's also a spell to record what's happening and a spell to wipe the memory clear.

And that's the end of the chapter! But not the story. Come on, they aren't back in love yet. Would I leave it here? There's also the house elf love triangle to sort out. Ah, romance…


	21. Paradise Found

Paradise Found

Disclaimer: I don't own them. JK does.

Thanks for 1037 reviews goes to: Dark Angel (x4), Kersten Cheyne, Rebecca, Queen Li, Lulu81, willowwiccantara, draconas, Flexi Lexi, angkat14, Trillium, hyper_shark, mya14, Saotoshi, Wormmon ABC, pupulupk, kriss, JoeBob1379, Kaytell of Krynn, Dragonsbane, The Elfin Child, Deimos, ~* paper star *~, AerinBrown, Jaded, mutsumi, animegirl-mika, Malexthehedgehog, MoonDancerCat, kei-chan, plumsy321, willowfairy, Kiyoko, aku-neko, sunne, Kate, Sushinase, dragonsprincess, pumpkinpasties, dahae!

A/N: Over 1000 reviews! *hugs you all* Thank you all so much!

I'm really sorry for not updating in so long… I've had too much stuff happening! Which included school exams which I hadn't revised for (I did alright!) and the new Harry Potter book, (of course). But finally, here it is… the final chapter of Darkness and Light!

I don't have a plan for a sequel yet… I'm definitely going to work on a slightly different short story involving Hermione and Draco, not romantic, and probably to be called 'Unforgivable?' I'll send an email to those on my update list when it comes out.

Still attempting to get my writings e.t.c. onto the web. Info will be posted in my profile!

Until then, what can I do but take my final bow and say, Enjoy!

~*~

Hermione awoke slowly, floating back from unconsciousness, becoming aware of her world in varying degrees. First, she was aware of the hospital sheets around her, cool against her skin. Dim aches registered in her mind, memories of pain that seemed a dream away, but she ignored them. She tasted fresh air, and distantly she heard the sound of someone laughing.

Her eyes fluttered open to take in the familiar room: the rows of clean white beds, the faint lemony smell of disinfectant, the calming neutral colours. But why was she here? Something had happened… she remembered it, faintly. Being afraid, being tortured… Lucius Malfoy. 

And memory came back, grudgingly. She'd been lured out of school by the false letter. Then captured, taken to the manor, and Lucius. She winced at the memory of the pain. And then… she had been rescued, she remembered that too, but so faintly. Arms around her, and someone upset. And speaking to her. Their voice had been pained… she could call back the sound of it, like a whisper, if she tried.

_'Hermione?'_

'Draco…' 

Draco. A smile rose unbidden to her lips, and a warmth spread inside her as she remembered. He had rescued her, of course. She remembered smiling at him, the way he hadn't been able to believe she really was alive.

'You're alive?' 

_'Alive. I am alive…'_

'Alive. Alive…' 

She had felt… happy. Yes, happy, that was the word. Half-dead, covered in blood and unable to move without violent pain, she had still been happy. Because of him. Because of Draco.

And with a sudden shock, she remembered the last thing she'd said.

'_Love you…'_

Hermione pushed herself upright on the bed, wincing but paying no attention to it. Love you… she had said that to Draco. And when she said it, she had meant it. She had loved him. And, remembering the way she had felt when she thought of him, acknowledging that there was still a giddy warmth inside her, denial was pointless.

She was in love with him.

The bell rang sharply, cutting into her slightly shocked thoughts. In the corridors outside, the happy chatter of people escaping from lessons could be heard, swelling as people poured out of the classrooms. Hermione blinked, taking a calming breath, and leant back against her pillows.

She loved Draco again. Or at least, she thought she did… No, no, she did. There was no point, she told herself severely, in doubting herself there. She did… She could remember what it had been like, however dimly, and this was the same. And now, all she had to do was… tell him.

Her stomach twisted at that idea, but she ignored it. It would always feel a little daunting for anyone, telling someone something like this. And the probability of something going wrong with that particular conversation was about the same as that of Blast-Ended Skrewts suddenly coming into existence two inches above her head.

She glanced upwards, just to make sure. After all, anything could happen…

Hermione had just pushed this path of thought firmly aside and begun trying to decide what exactly to say, when an extremely familiar voice made her jump.

'You're awake!'

She looked up, unable to stop herself smiling, and saw Draco, wearing an almost uncharacteristic grin. However normal and familiar his smirks, scowls, sneers and occasional smiles were, she wouldn't deny that these grins were certainly much more becoming. She felt a tingle in her stomach.

'I am.' she replied with a smile. 'And I feel great. What's happened? How long have I been asleep?, Oh, and where is Madam Pomfrey? Normally she'd have been fussing everywhere by now…'

His grin faded slightly. 'Madam Pomfrey's at a Healer's conference. St. Mungo's. And you've been unconscious for three days…' he replied, taking a seat on a precariously old wooden chair beside her. 'And well, a lot of things have happened…'

'What?' Hermione asked. 'Tell me… from the beginning.' She had a sense of foreboding, but ignored it. 'How did we escape from Malfoy Manor?'

'Someone called in the Ministry.' he said shortly. 'I haven't a clue who, since Ron and Harry were standing around in the room looking fairly shocked, my mother was in hysterics, and the only other person who knew anything about it was-' he stopped short.

Hermione frowned, her feeling of apprehension growing. 'Who? The other person who would have known about it was… your father.' Draco winced, which puzzled Hermione even more. 'What? What's wrong?'

'He's dead.' Draco said shortly, not meeting her eyes. 'I killed him.'

Hermione's eyes widened in shock; she realised her jaw had dropped, and hastily closed it. Draco had killed his father? She had known he hated Lucius… but for it to drive him to murder? 

A nasty voice in her mind reminded her that things like this had a trigger. Something which caused them to happen, a final straw that drove him to breaking point… Her. She herself had been the trigger event… when he saw Lucius torturing her, that had been the most he could take. And another part of her mind took not at the fact that it had been her own pain, not his, which had driven him over that edge…

'Oh.' she said rather feebly.

'Forget it.' he said forcibly, folding his arms defensively and staring away from her, at the floor. His face, so trained in remaining emotionless, betrayed a deep hatred. 'It was… It's not…'

'It's okay.' she said, smiling weakly. 'I mean, I know what he was like to you… and you were angry. You had every right to be angry. And well…'

'It was still wrong.' he said. 'I didn't want to kill anyone.'

'I know.' she said sympathetically. 'Forget about it, if it upsets you… tell me what else happened.'

'We used the Genitive potion on that quill.' he replied without much enthusiasm. 'It was Mandy Brocklehurst… a Ravenclaw. Our year.'

'Really?' Hermione asked.  'Do the teachers know? What happened to her?'

'They're trying to decide what to do with her…' he replied. 'The teachers know. We got her to confess without knowing they were watching… and they recorded it for evidence.' He still wasn't meeting her eyes, but his face was no longer angry, indicating that whatever was causing it now was not related to his father.

'That was a good idea.' she commented with a smile. As the surprise of Draco's father ebbed, she began to wonder when she would get the chance to tell him how she felt.

'Of course it was a good idea.' he said, and now he did meet her eyes with a smirk. 'It was mine, after all.'

Hermione couldn't help but laugh at this. Same old Draco, she thought with another pang of warmth… But by the time she looked back at him, with a smile and an answering quip on her lips, he was looking away from her again. He was staring absentmindedly at the sheet, and looked as though he was puzzling over something.

'Are you alright?' he asked tentatively, knowing very well that it might be caused by his father, who he didn't seem to want to discuss. But Draco sighed and nodded.

'Fine.' he replied. 'Just thinking about something. Nothing very important, just something you said back there… You were probably just ranting, and I doubt you remember anyway.'

Hermione's heart jumped. 'What did I say?' she asked, her voice eager and quiet. 'What was it?'

'It wasn't important…

'It… it was.' Hermione said, swallowing. 'Because, I remember saying something to you… and what I said was important. And it wasn't just ramblings. It was… true.'

He had turned towards her, his face filled with hope and doubt. 'Did you say what I think you said?' he asked almost silently.

Hermione smiled and nodded firmly. 'Yes.' she said. 'I… I love you. And I mean it…'

Draco's eyes widened in surprise. 'You… really?'

She nodded, glancing away almost shyly, before looking back up to meet his eyes. She shivered at the sight of them, the feeling that she could see deeper than she ever remembered into those silvery grey eyes.

'You said you did before… but I knew you were lying.' he said, his voice half a whisper. Hermione, in the recent events, had understandably forgotten this, and its memory brought a flush to her cheeks. 'But now…' Draco's eyes flicked over her face. 'You aren't.'

Their eyes were locked together, not moving, as though the world would end if they looked away, as though they were caught in a spell. For a few heartbeats, nothing existed, nothing mattered, except those twin circles of grey. Such a cold colour, but filled with warmth…

And before she even knew what was happening, his lips were on hers, kissing her gently. She jumped a little with the surprise, the sudden feeling, ever so gentle but deceptively intense. Closing her eyes, she gently eased into the kiss. His arms snaked around her, and her hands went to his back by instinct, holding him close as she sank deeper into his kiss.

A moment later, she heard a babble of voices outside the door, which swung open. She jumped at the sound, as did Draco, who flung himself to a sitting position so hard he ended up falling to the floor with a yelp.

Hermione cast an embarrassed, guilty glance to the door, where stood Harry and Ron with rather shocked expression on their faces.

'Um.' Ron said tactfully, his ears turning red. 'I see you're awake.'

 'Yes, I am…' she nodded. There was a silence, broken only by Draco getting up with an extremely faked grin and attempting to sit respectably on his chair.

'That's good.' Harry agreed, blinking. 'And I see you're feeling well…'

'Yes.' Hermione said. There was another silence, and Draco suddenly burst into laughter. This drew looks of puzzled amusement from the three Gryffindors.

'What on earth are you laughing at?' Hermione asked with a frown.

'You three!' he replied, still laughing. 'You'd think you'd never seen anyone kiss before!'

'Well, we've never seen you two kiss before.' Harry said tactfully. 'It's different when it's people you know.

'We could leave you alone, if you wanted…' Ron offered, ears tingeing crimson.

Hermione glanced at Draco. 'I don't think we need it…' she replied. 'We have plenty of time, after all...' And she smiled.

~*~ 

Hermione left the hospital a week later. It was a perfect summer day, straight out of a holiday brochure. The sun baked down, making everyone dream of ice cream and freezing cold drinks. Practically the entire school, teachers included, was outside sunning themselves on the grass.

Hermione, Draco, Harry and Ron were no exception. They sat in the partial shade of a willow, their skin dappled with filtered light. Hermione, at Draco's insistence, had her head resting comfortably on his shoulder, relaxing. Madam Pomfrey had insisted she was still weak, and according to Draco the tree was too rough to lean against.

Still, she wasn't planning on complaining.

A short way away, Ron and Harry were engaged in a tense game of wizard's chess, which Ron appeared to be winning, as usual. It was too hot to talk, too hot to do anything but rest.

Hermione had half-slipped into a doze when a cheery voice awoke her. 'Miss Hermione, you is better!'

She looked up into the smiling face of Ditty. 'Hi Ditty.' she said with a smile. 'How are you?'

The elf grinned. 'Ditty is very well, Miss Hermione!'

Hermione blinked at the elf, then raised her head a fraction of an inch. Ditty was beaming, and holding hands with Dobby, who wore a near identical grin.

'You're...?' she asked, and Ditty nodded proudly. 'That's great, both of you!' Hermione replied with a smile. 'Congratulations! Erm… Winky is taking this alright, isn't she?'

'Winky is taking it very well, Miss Hermione.' Dobby replied. 'Already Winky is friends with another elf…' The way he said 'friends' suggested that there was more than that to it.

'Good.' Hermione smiled, leaning back against Draco. She felt happy. She was surrounded by the shouts and laughter of her friends, with the low mutterings and occasional crashes of Harry and Ron from nearby, the house elves' bright chatter as they sat near them, and of course Draco's arm tucked around her. 

And however bad the past had been, it was over now. The future would come, and she had no illusions that it held darkness. But now, safe and happy, both future and past were years away. There was nothing but the warmth of the sun and the coolness of the shade, the feelings of love and happiness and peace, and the knowledge that whatever happened, good or bad, light or dark, it would be all right in the end. They would get through it together, Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Draco.

And that was all that mattered.

~*~

THE END

*sigh* it is finished! But, of course, I still want your reviews. Send them in!

Thank you to everyone whose read and reviewed. You all deserve big hugs and chocolate for being such brilliant people!


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